Edwy and Edilda, a tale, in five parts :: :: University of Virginia Library

Edwy and Edilda, a tale, in five parts

By the Rev. Thomas Sedgwick Whalley, author of "A poem on Mont Blanc," &c. &c. &c. Embellished with six fine engravings, from original designs, by a young lady

Whalley, Thomas Sedgwick (1746-1828)

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IV. PART IV.

But Edwy, who at Galvan's word
Submissive left the wood,
Meantime to ancient Hilda's farm
The well-known path pursu'd.

The well-known path his feet pursu'd;
Not so his tortur'd mind,
Whose every thought intently dwelt
On what was left behind.

Ere long at Hilda's door he stands;
And while his rough disguise,
His haggard looks, and alter'd mien,
Conceal'd him from all eyes;

Of Hilda's Hind he humbly asks
If that her dwelling were;
And feigns from Edwy to be charg'd
With something for her ear.

“If aught to Hilda thou would'st say,
“It quickly must be said,”
The Hind return'd; “for she will soon
“Be number'd with the dead.

“Struck sudden by the hand of death,
“She prays but to survive
“Till gallant Edwy from the court
“Of Galvan shall arrive.

“Nor is an hour elaps'd, or ere
“A messenger in haste
“She sent, to beg his presence here
“Before she breath'd her last.”

“Lead me, O lead me to her bed!”
The seeming goatherd cries;
While to conceal the bursting woe,
He muffles up his eyes.

To Hilda's couch he led him straight,
And at his earnest pray'r
Before his errand was reveal'd
Retir'd and left him there.

Then while his streaming eyes he still
With his spread hand did shroud;
And kneeling by the bed of death
His anguish sobb'd aloud:

The dying Hilda turn'd her eye,
And seeing him, did crave,
With feeble voice, “What brought him there
“And what with her he'd have?”

“O! 'tis your Edwy, your dear son,”
He movingly replies,
“Who in a heavy hour is come
“To close a parent's eyes.”

Then her cold hand, bedew'd by death,
He softly, kindly prest;
Kiss'd her pale lips, and laid her head
Gently upon his breast.

“Welcome, thou joy of Hilda's soul!
“Thrice welcome art thou here!
“But wherefore in a garb so mean
“Doth Edwy now appear?

“And wherefore have his haggard cheeks,”
She cried, “forgot their bloom?
“Ah! why this spectacle of woe
“Doth Edwy hither come?”

“Let not my honour'd parent seek,”
The youth return'd, “to know
“What to the pains of this sick couch
“Would add a load of woe.

“O rather be it Edwy's part
“To catch her dying breath;
“And with his filial tenderness
“To smooth the bed of death.”

“Ev'n as thou wilt,” she low reply'd,
“And well it doth appear
“Not to consume in fruitless talk
“My little remnant here.

“Since ere my ebbing life is gone,
“Fain would I have it known
“To Edwy's heart, that Hilda ne'er
“In Edwy had a son.

“Nay, start not thus, nor break my tale,
“But calmly hear the rest,
“Which long in secret hath repos'd
“In Hilda's cautious breast.

“Full twenty years are past and gone
“Since to the bloody fray
“Ongar, in aid of Egbert's arms,
“From Hilda hied away.

“Hied far away to Cornwall's coasts,
“What time the barb'rous Dane
“Frighted her peace, and fertile fields
“With native blood did stain.

“It happen'd from those horrid scenes,
“As through a shady wood,
“Ongar to seek our lowly home
“One morn his way pursu'd;

“Within its most secluded paths,
“A dying wretch he found,
“Gash'd o'er with wounds, and in his gore
“All welt'ring on the ground.

“Already did his pallid face,
“Death's ghastly semblance bear;
“And by a few convulsive starts
“Life only glimmer'd there.

“Yet, ah! the moving sight to see,
“Close to his bloody breast,
“Ev'n in the agonies of death,
“His arms an infant prest.

“Shock'd at the scene, my husband hastes
“His succour to impart;
“And gently lifts the dying wretch,
“And gently chafes his heart.

“One little flash of life returns:
“He lifts his languid eyes,
“And thus, with lab'ring catching breath,
“In feeble accents cries:

“Regard not me!—save the dear child!
“For—more he would have said,
“But life, exhausted in th'attempt,
“A pause eternal made.

“And let me haste, while breath remains,
“To close the piteous tale;
“Lest death in everlasting bonds,
“My tongue, like his, should seal.

“The lovely infant Ongar took
“From its dead father's side,
“And tendful of his little charge,
“To Hilda's dwelling hy'd.

“Most welcome he to Hilda's arms
“With the sweet babe return'd;
“Who a dear infant's recent death
“Incessantly had mourn'd.

“And while he told its early woes,
“I wept, and to my breast,
“With all a mother's yearnings, close
“The smiling orphan press'd.

“Ev'n from that hour my heart for thee,
“A mother's fondest love,
“Her tender fears, and anxious cares,
“Hath never ceas'd to prove.

“And from thy kind, thy virtuous heart,
“Hath Hilda ever known
“All the obedience, love, and care,
“Of the most tender son!

“But what thy hapless father's name,
“Or what his birth and state,
“In vain to Edwy's longing ear
“Would Hilda's tongue relate.

“Too soon again to Cornwall's coasts
“Fell war my husband bore,
“And there my foster infant's birth
“He promis'd to explore.

“But ah! no more these eyes beheld,
“No more these arms embrac'd
“The man they lov'd! in prime of life
“Ordain'd to breathe his last.

“Nor had my tongue from Edwy's ear
“So long the tale conceal'd,
“If aught to bless, or sooth his heart,
“That tongue could have reveal'd.

“And yet perhaps these lips ere now
“Had told the piteous tale,
“And from unconscious Edwy's eyes
“Remov'd the secret veil;

“Had not I fondly fear'd thy love
“For Hilda might decay;
“Or that thy steps, to trace thy birth,
“Might wander far away.

“And oh! forgive, thou generous youth,
“If doating Hilda's heart,
“Her husband lost, from all it lov'd,
“In Edwy fear'd to part.

“Yet though thy robe with clotted gore
“And dirt was all besprent,
“And had by some uncourteous hand
“Been quite asunder rent;

“This did the substance still declare,
“That, nor of abject race,
“Nor yet of scanty pen'ry's stock,
“My darling Edwy was.

“And round thy little wrist was bound
“A curious braid of hair,
“Which by a heart of precious stone
“Was firmly fasten'd there.

“But when too big for such a band,
“Thy growing wrist became,
“I safe preserv'd this only pledge
“Of Edwy's birth or name.

“O! may it prove in Edwy's hand
“A great auspicious light,
“To chase away the envious cloud
“That hangs before his sight!

“O! may the gracious Pow'r above
“Direct his goings still,
“Lead him to every earthly good,
“And keep him far from ill!”

She could no more; for Death's cold damps
Upon her forehead hung,
Within her filmy eye he glar'd,
And mutter'd on her tongue.

Yet still upon her Edwy's face,
While any sense remain'd,
She fondly gaz'd; and still his hand
With chilly grasp retain'd.

Still did his tears and soothings soft
The pangs of death beguile;
And as he pour'd his grateful thanks
For all her cares, a smile

Through the dread shadowings of death
Once more did faintly break;
And when the struggling spirit fled,
Yet loiter'd on her cheek.

To her remains the grateful youth
The last sad duties paid,
And water'd with his tears the turf
That o'er her corse was laid:

Then from the scenes of former peace,
Determin'd far to stray,
And in some deep sequester'd shade
Weep all his life away.

“What has an outcast like myself,”
He cried, “to do with men,
“Whose int'rests and connexions make
“This world a cheerful scene?

“But Edwy from the ties of blood
“Cut off for ever here,
“To interest dead, a single wretch
“Must on the earth appear.

“No dear connexions, tender ties,
“In life he e'er can have;
“And from his woes can only rest
“Within the silent grave.

“Then let the wretched orphan haste,
“To hide his abject head;
“Lost and forgotten by the world
“In some secluded shade!

“Yet still amidst retirement's gloom,
“For sweet Edilda's peace
“This tongue shall pray, and ask from Heav'n
“No blessing but her bliss.

“And like a radiant angel still
“Her image shall appear,
“Tinted by love's own hand, to charm
“The horrors of despair.”

With soft laments, and yearnings fond,
Thus Edwy onward past;
And many a long and weary mile
With wand'ring footsteps trac'd;

Throughout the day his journey still
By private paths pursu'd;
And laid his weary limbs at night
Within some gloomy wood.

His weary limbs at rest he laid;
But rarely to his heart,
Awake with woe, could balmy sleep
His needful aid impart.

Three tedious days and watchful nights
The hapless Edwy sped;
Yet kenn'd not the desir'd retreat
Wherein to hide his head.

The fourth his feet a forest trod
What time the shades of night,
Just fall'n, were sweetly awful made
By Luna's sober light.

Within the deep and ancient shade
As slow he onward wends,
The silver regent journeying bright,
A gleam to guide him sends.

And through the branches, as by breaks,
Her rays serenely shine,
To the majestic wood they give
Solemnity divine!

All Nature seem'd in silence hush'd,
Save where the plaintive song
Of Philomel, to hail the moon,
Was heard the woods among.

The mournful lay, as on he past,
Sunk deep in Edwy's soul;
And for a moment from his griefs
His rapt attention stole.

But quickly with redoubled force
His bitter sorrows flow:
“Ah! fancy not,” he cried, “thy song
“Pre-eminent in woe!

“If Edwy's notes to Edwy's heart
“Their accents but incline;
“Thou'lt own, sweet bird, thy plaintive tale
“A jocund strain to mine.”

He said; and sitting on a stone,
So sad, so sweet, did play,
That Philomela, charm'd to hear,
Forgot her humbler lay.

As Orpheus fabled was of old,
The tufted groves among,
To sit and charm the silent shades
With his melodious song;

So Edwy breath'd his melting tones
On the still ear of night;
Whose calmness wafted through the wood
Each note, with strange delight!

Till so responsive to his woe
He touch'd the mournful lay,
That melting on his own sad strain,
His spirits dy'd away.

From his faint hand the tuneful pipe
Insensibly did part,
While heavy languor clos'd his eyes,
And sicken'd round his heart.

Nor came the tranced spirits back,
Till gentle on his breast
A hand he felt, while thus a voice
Benign his ear address'd:

“If sense be with the life return'd,
“That beats within thy heart,
“Look up, sad youth, and to a friend
“Thy miseries impart.

“For well this bosom is attun'd
“To sorrow's plaintive tone;
“And how to sooth another's woe
“Is tutor'd by its own.”

He said, and sigh'd. The tender words
Touch'd Edwy's inmost soul;
While wonder at the strange address,
And awe, his mind control.

As to some hapless wretch new wak'd,
Ev'n yet the pleasing dream,
Just fled, he knows not, or as truth
Or fiction to esteem;

So Edwy's senses scarce return'd,
Confess'd a secret fear,
Lest the sweet sounds were fancy all
That seem'd to greet his ear.

But doubt a certainty became,
And rev'rence and surprise
His bosom fill, as lifting now
His newly open'd eyes,

By the pale moon's soft streaming light,
That quiver'd through the wood,
A holy Hermit at his side
The love-lorn Shepherd view'd.

A sable mantle flowing large,
The reverend figure clad,
On which his long and silver beard
With every motion play'd.

As some bright meteor graceful hangs
Upon the veil of night,
So flow'd the waving ringlets down
With fullest honours dight.

Nor were the honours of his head
Inferior yet, I ween,
Whose plenteous locks full many a day
Had, by their whiteness, seen.

A spirit in his speaking eye
Chasten'd by sorrow sat;
And human kindness, sense, and truth,
Right fairly show'd thereat.

His shape and height were of the best,
And in his graceful mien
A reference fair to better days,
And happier hours, was seen.

A dignity devoid of pride
Sat full upon his brow;
And, spite of time, his comely age
A lovely youth did show.

Yet comelier had his years appear'd,
And on his reverend face
The furrows less, had pining grief
Not deepen'd age's trace.

His eye, with mingled awe and love,
Admiring Edwy hung
Upon the Sage, while mildly thus
Rejoin'd his graceful tongue:

“Whence art thou come, thou youth forlorn,
“Who this sequester'd shade,
“At night's still hour, hast with thy pipe
“So sweetly vocal made?

“But thou art faint, thy spirits much
“By weariness oppress'd,
“And bitter woe, require the aid
“Of food and balmy rest.

“To Herman's cave thy feeble steps
“His fostering arm shall lead;
“And there thy wearied limbs shall rest
“Upon his humble bed.

“He doubts not but his tender care
“Sweet solace may impart;
“Nor yet despairs, with counsel sweet
“To ease thy lab'ring heart.

“For sure the veriest wretch must find
“Some symptoms of relief,
“To own a friend who knows to feel,
“And loves to share his grief.

“Too well thy eye and haggard cheek
“Confess corroding care;
“And yet believe, his keener touch
“These deep-worn furrows bear.”

“Ah, no!” the sighing youth return'd
With warmth, “there cannot be
“Throughout the earth a wretch involv'd
“In deeper woe than me.

“Yet, honour'd Sage, if aught on earth
“Can soften Edwy's grief,
“From thy sweet counsel he may hope
“To gather some relief.

“Thy generous kindness he accepts;
“And Herman ne'er shall find
“That generous kindness thrown away
“Upon a thankless mind.

“Yet what have I but pray'rs, and love,
“And gratitude, to give?
“And what besides would Herman deign
“From Edwy to receive?

“Nor shall the fortunes of my life
“Be hidden from thine ear,
“If I have pow'r to tell the tale,
“And patience thou to hear.”

He said: the while to Herman's cave
Their social steps were bent;
And still on his supporting arm
The feeble Edwy leant.

And still the Sage, with soothing words,
Spoke comfort to his heart;
Still to revive his drooping sprite,
Exerted every art.

Not long their friendly steps had trod
The mazes of the wood,
Or e'er, by Luna's trembling light,
The welcome cave they view'd.

Deep in a private dale that sunk
The towering woods between,
Scoop'd from a high and craggy cliff,
The lone abode was seen.

Nor yet unlovely was the rock,
Whose rugged sides were made
Gracefully gloomy, by a soft
Variety of shade.

From out its clefts the berried ash,
And flow'ring hawthorn grew;
And there the trembling poplar's shade
Mix'd with the mournful yew.

And as their branches interwove,
Now here, now there, was seen
A mossy crag, that thrust its point
The motley shade between.

Full in the bosom of the rock
A crystal riv'let sprung,
And dashing down from clift to clift
Its white foam scattering flung.

By breaks the branches bow'ring o'er,
Conceal'd it from the eye,
Except that through the leaves, by peeps,
Its glimmerings one might spy.

The whole a shade more copious crown'd,
And proudly o'er the rest
An aged oak, with branches wild,
Exalted high its crest.

A gloomy yew of ancient date
That stood before the cave,
With ample honours to the scene
An added beauty gave.

Around its trunk a rustic seat
Above the turf was rear'd;
And at its foot the murm'ring brook
With shining face appeard.

The shelvings of the secret dale
With wood of various green
Were cover'd thick, save where a rock,
Or slanting field, was seen.

Yet narrow were the fields I trow,
And little had to spare
For the white sheep that o'er their face
Sparingly sprinkled were.

100

Upon the heights the lofty wood
With gloomy honours wav'd;
And still from every nipping blast
The shelter'd valley sav'd.

Charm'd with the calm romantic scene,
Which yet more pleasing show'd
As Luna silver'd all the dale,
While riding o'er the wood;

The Youth exclaim'd, “How pleas'd could I,
“Within this private dale,
“With honour'd Herman's converse sweet,
“And meditation, dwell!”

“And here shall dwell,” the Sage reply'd,
“If so thy soul incline;
“And here well pleas'd will Herman be
“To mix his tears with thine:

“Well pleas'd will be, thou gentle youth,
“To listen to thy lays;
“And court thy hand to close his eyes
“When death shall end his days.

“For kindred Edwy's sorrows seem,
“Kindred his soul to mine;
“And through his griefs the genuine sparks
“Of heav'n-born virtue shine.

“Here, firm united by the bands
“Of friendship, we will dwell;
“And think with scorn upon a world
“Fond mortals love so well.

101

“Nor vice, nor pride, nor discontent,
“Shall in this cell appear;
“But peace, and piety, and love,
“Shall sweetly flourish here.

“Then enter in, a welcome guest;
“And while thy lips disclose
“Thy sad mishaps, my heart shall feel,
“And, feeling, sooth thy woes.”

He said; and enter'd with the youth,
Whose weary drooping head
His hands benevolent repos'd
Upon the mossy bed.

And now with milk, and various fruits,
The table he prepares;
And Edwy's deep-dejected mind
With wholesome nurture cheers.

His strength recruited, soon the youth
Begins his tale of woe;
And shows, impartial, every cause,
From whence his sorrows flow.

Sincerely shows his inmost heart;
The while upon his tongue,
The Sage with tender sympathy,
And deep attention, hung.

But when to Hilda's bed of death,
He brings the mournful tale;
While he relates her dying speech,
The Sage's cheek grows pale.

102

Paler and paler now it grows;
The while his heaving breast,
His trembling lip, and eager eye,
The lab'ring soul confest.

The youth with dread observ'd the change,
And made a sudden pause;
Then tenderly of Herman's ill
Inquires the latent cause.

“Ask not,” he cries, “what rouses thus
“A tempest in my breast;
“Pursue thy tale, my bosom throbs,
“Nay burns, to know the rest!”

Amaz'd! the youth his tale pursu'd;
But when, to prove his birth,
He nam'd the bracelet, as his pledge,
His only pledge on earth;

“Show me that pledge!” the Sage exclaim'd!
And when the pledge was shown,
Upon his neck he fell, and cry'd,
“Thou art! thou art my son!”

“How! whence! where!”—wild, the youth exclaims,
“Sure it can never be,
“That hapless Edwy should possess
“A father such as thee!”

Yet while he doubted, trembled, wept,
The Hermit he caress'd;
Who clasp'd him close in speechless joy
Unto his aged breast.

103

“O! doubt it not, dear youth,” he cry'd,
“Thou art indeed my Son;
“Nor yet a Father, such as me,
“Shall Edwy blush to own.”

Then more compos'd he sat, and wip'd
The rapturous tears that fell;
While thus to the astonish'd youth
His lips began their tale:

“Well may'st thou wonder,” dearest youth,
“At what a Father spoke,
“When too intemp'rate from his lips,
“The heat-felt transports broke.

“But who, inur'd to long distress,
“And long from hope confin'd,
“Can feel the sudden burst of joy,
“And curb his struggling mind?

“Yet long as sorrow on my soul
“Its bitterness hath press'd,
“My greatest joy will be to chase
“Affliction from my breast.

“Nay, weep not thus, nor look aghast,
“For sorrow now is o'er;
“But listen while my lips unfold
“A thousand joys in store:

“A thousand joys, which all a dream
“Had seem'd the hour foregone;
“But which thy panting heart shall soon
“Sincere and poignant own.

104

“Know then, thou comfort of my soul,
“That Galvan's self to thee,
“In point of wealth, must yield the palm,
“And noble ancestry.

“Tho' chang'd my name, yet know thy birth
“From far-fam'd Oswald sprung;
“Whose great descent, and pow'r as great,
“Was heard from every tongue.

“Superior yet thy birth appears
“Upon thy Mother's side,
“Who near to Brithric's royal blood,
“And Egbert's, was ally'd.

“But what avail'd my Thyra's blood!
“And what her virtues all!
“Ordain'd by barb'rous ruffians hands,
“In beauty's bloom to fall!

“Yet still her well-remember'd charms
“Upon my Edwy's face,
“And still her manners sweet in thine,
“A father's eye can trace.

“Nine years a heav'n within her arms,
“Did happy Oswald prove;
“And five sweet infants did she bring
“As pledges of his love.

“But at one deadly sweep, the loss
“Of all, thy father mourn'd;
“Though now in such a son as thee,
“They all appear return'd.

105

“A castle fair on Devon's edge,
“Thy father lov'd full well;
“And there, withdrawn from busier scenes,
“At times, was wont to dwell.

“Thither my lovely Wife retir'd,
“What time, full many a Dane,
“Invading Cornwall's further side,
“By Egbert's arms were slain.

“These robbers quell'd, I eager sought
“The scenes of former peace;
“Sought the fair meed of all my toils
“In sweet domestic bliss.

“But ah! too soon the heart of man,
“To confidence a prey,
“At fortune's first delusive smile,
“Casts prudent care away.

“Thus Oswald fearlessly repos'd
“Upon his Thyra's breast,
“Nor dreamt of any rising storm
“To ruffle his calm rest.

“One night awak'd from balmy sleep
“Within her faithful arms,
“A horrid clamour instant fill'd
“My heart with strange alarms.

“Rushing from off my downy couch,
“Quick to the hall I past,
“Where trusty Algar met my steps,
“With wild disorder'd haste.

106

“His arm my little Osbert bore;
“And as my way he crost,
‘Fly quick! my Lord,’ he trembling cry'd,
‘Fly quick! or all is lost!

‘The cruel Danes impetuous rush
‘Upon thy guardian train;
‘And ere I ran to save thy son,
‘But few were left unslain.

‘The remnant doubtless of that force,
‘Which late in Cornwall's field,
‘The royal Egbert's gallant troops
‘So bravely met and quell'd.

‘Thence flying, they've surpris'd thy train
‘Beneath the mask of night:
‘But urge thy speed! A moment hence
‘May be too late for flight.’

“He spake, and vanish'd from my eyes:—
“Fell anguish rent my breast;
“Yet to my Thyra back with speed
“My eager footsteps prest;

“Resolv'd on danger's utmost brink,
“Whatever might betide,
“To save her life, or lose my own,
“With honour, by her side.

“But ah! before my steps return'd,
“The clamour caught her ear;
“And by a different way, too soon!
“She fled, o'erwhelm'd with fear.

107

“Distracted I return once more
“Unto the empty hall,
“And there, with horror compass'd round,
“Aloud for succour call!

“Nor call in vain, though most had fall'n
“To silent death a prey;
“A few remain'd who heard my voice,
“And hurried me away.

“But not to where the bloody Danes,
“Through the long galleries pour;
“To stop the flood, or meet his death,
“Their struggling Lord they bore.

“In vain I threaten'd, rav'd, and pray'd;
“Swift from the desp'rate fight
“They bore me with a cruel care,
“Beneath the gloom of night.

“And oft, in vain! I anxious ask,
“If aught of Thyra's fate,
“Or of my children's, to my ear
“Their knowledge can relate?

“At last, when far from scenes of death
“In safety I was plac'd,
“Seeing the horrors of suspense,
“My spirits widely waste;

“They tell, with many a heavy groan,
“That all my daughters fair,
“And lovely Thyra, by the Danes
“Most basely butcher'd were.

108

“But still of little Osbert's fate
“No knowledge was obtain'd;
“And still to sooth my deep distress,
“One ray of light remain'd.

“Yet, 'midst my anguish, great revenge
“Within my bosom rose;
“And Oswald shore he would avenge
“His own, and Cornwall's woes.

“Soon at my wish a gallant troop
“Of warriors gather'd round;
“And soon those spoilers of my peace,
“The cruel Danes, we found.

“Upon their force my warriors rush'd
“Impetuous as a flood;
“And Oswald's wrongs were deep repaid
“In their inhuman blood.

“But still affliction pierc'd my soul;
“And, like the stricken deer,
“Where'er I turn'd, the deadly shaft
“Did in my bosom bear.

“At length, to sum up all my woes,
“While through this ancient wood,
“Some skulking Danes escap'd from fight,
“My valiant train pursu'd;

“Far in the shade their eager feet
“The faithful Algar found
“Stiff in his blood, a ghastly sight!
“And gash'd with many a wound.

109

“In his clench'd hand a remnant still,
“Though all with gore defil'd,
“He grasp'd, of the remember'd robe
“That clad my darling child.

“But vainly had their faithful feet
“Explor'd the utmost round
“Of the vast wood, no further trace
“Of Osbert could be found.

“The heavy tidings to my ear
“Reluctantly they tell;
“And with those tidings, from my breast
“Each gleam of hope repel.

“For who could doubt my hapless child
“Kill'd by the savage Dane,
“Though his dear relics, through the wood,
“Their care had sought in vain?

“Sick of the world, where all my peace
“Was at one fatal blow
“Dash'd quite away, and nothing left
“But unremitting woe;

“For ever from the haunts of men,
“My soul resolv'd to stray;
“And lost in solitude's deep gloom,
“Weep weary life away.

“Yet think not 'midst my bitt'rest pangs
“One doubt within my breast,
“One impious murmur, boldly rose
“To combat Heav'n's behest.

110

“I knew the wisdom of my God,
“His mercy knew as well;
“And judg'd, to rouse me from my sins,
“This weight of sorrow fell.

“And well religion's lore had taught,
“Not in a world like this
“The heart of man should fondly rest
“Its hope of lasting bliss.

“Submissive, patient, and resign'd,
“I therefore kiss'd the rod;
“And by a deep repentance sought
“To reconcile my God.

“Unto my noble brother now
“A messenger I sent,
“And only to his faithful ear
“Disclos'd my fix'd intent.

“In vain his love and friendship strove
“To sooth my tortur'd heart;
“In vain, from a resolve so strange,
“Intreated me to part.

“My vast estate, and honours fair,
“I trusted to his hand;
“And only crav'd such small supplies
“As nature should demand.

“Then privately with him I sought,
“In this deep forest's shade,
“A secret place, wherein to lay
“With solitude my head.

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“For here I ween'd, in thy dear blood
“Was seal'd my deep despair;
“And therefore stealing from the world,
“Desir'd to languish here.

“Lo! to my wish, sunk far in gloom,
“We found this calm retreat,
“Which every thing conspir'd to make
“For woe a dwelling meet.

“Full twenty years are past and gone,
“Since first his sorrows made
“Thy wretched father's heavy heart
“Acquainted with this shade.

“Lost to the world, full twenty years
“In solitude I've spent,
“Save that at times thy uncle's steps
“Have hitherward been bent.

“By him in secret still supply'd
“My little stores have been,
“His hand the scatter'd flock bestow'd,
“That feed the copse between.

“And still his loving lips have strove,
“Yet still have strove in vain,
“To win me from this lonely cave,
“Unto the world again.

“How little did I ween that world
“So hated; e'er would be
“Again an interesting scene,
“And full of joys for me!

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“But far above our mortal ken
“Is Heav'n's almighty pow'r;
“And ours is only to submit,
“To feel, and to adore.

“It chanc'd as at the fall of night
“Attentively I stood,
“Observant of the silver moon
“That glimmer'd through the wood:

“Just at my feet she brightly glanc'd
“With clear unusual light,
“And something, sudden, caught her rays,
“And sparkled to my sight.

“I curious stoop'd to learn the cause;
“But what was my surprise,
“When this well-noted pledge of love
“Appear'd before my eyes?

“When thy dear mother, to my wish,
“Produc'd a lovely son,
“T'inherit Oswald's honours, wealth,
“And blood of high renown;

“O'erjoy'd, to deck each little wrist
“A curious braid of hair
“Her fingers wove, which ruby hearts
“Both crown'd and fasten'd there.

“One bracelet from her flaxen locks
“Like glossy silk did shine;
“The other braid her partial hand
“Would needs collect from mine.

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“Upon the back of each bright heart
“These words engraven were,
“In mystic characters; fond Love
“And joy have fix'd me here.

“The well-remember'd pledge of love
“Unto my lips I prest;
“The while a thousand tender thoughts
“O'erwhelm'd my throbbing breast.

“Afresh I wept my Thyra's fate;
“Afresh I wept thy own;
“And on the ground, with new despair,
“Distracted threw me down.

“But soon thy notes, so strangely sweet!
“So mournful! caught my ear,
“That from affliction's self they stole
“A wish to hush and hear.

“And as I hark'd, I long'd to know
“What mortal 'midst this shade,
“Its deep and unfrequented gloom
“So sweetly vocal made.

“Thou know'st the rest; for while I stole
“With silence to the sound,
“It ceas'd; and soon I saw thee stretch'd
“In swoonings on the ground:

“Too happy that my feeble hand
“Assistance could impart,
“And bring my Edwy back to life,
“To bless his woeful heart.

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“And sure this memorable night
“My steps were led by Heav'n;
“This bracelet surely as a pledge
“Of coming joy was given.

“By this the answering pledge of love
“More perfectly was known;
“By this thy father was prepar'd
“To meet and know his son.

“Nor haughty Edbald, proudly, now
“His honours shall compare,
“His large possessions, pow'r, or birth,
“With Oswald's greater heir.

“For still the flow'r of Egbert's court,
“The kingdom Oswald deem'd;
“And Oswald still above his peers
“By Egbert was esteem'd

“The lov'd companion of his youth,
“And sharer of his fate,
“What time in foreign climes he dwelt
“From jealous Brithric's hate.

“And noble Galvan well I know,
“And often he has swore,
“That Oswald's friendship he esteem'd
“All friendship far before.

“But now 'tis meet thy weary limbs
“Were steep'd in balmy rest;
“And needful is the soft repose
“That long has left thy breast.

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“To-morrow with the rising sun
“Straight to my Brother's court,
“With new-born hope, and peace, and joy,
“Together we'll resort.

“From thence to noble Galvan's hall
“A messenger with speed
“Will Oswald send, that he may learn
“What fortune has decreed:

“What fav'ring Heav'n has rather done
“To bless a virtuous pair,
“Ordaining who so lowly seem'd,
“A pow'rful noble's heir.

“Nor shall thy heart from her it loves
“A longer season wait,
“Than Oswald's heir can be prepar'd
“To go with fitting state.

“Beneath the rest at Galvan's court
“Thou hitherto hast been;
“But now exalted o'er them all
“My Edwy shall be seen.

“By that dear name thy father still
“His long-lost son must call,
“Since under that dear name he came
“To end his bitter thrall.”

The reverend Noble ended here:
But who the joy can tell
With which the youth's enraptur'd soul
Did on each accent dwell?

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Who the strong extasies can paint
That in his bosom glow'd?
Who the warm tide that from his lips
Of love and duty flow'd?

In vain his father's tender care
Had hop'd the balmy rest;
A thousand transports drove it far
From Edwy's panting breast.

And oft he question'd his fond heart,
And often felt a fear,
Lest all illusion was the bliss
That newly bustled there.

And oft he wish'd to urge the hours,
Oft sigh'd for morn's return,
Impatient that Edilda's heart
His alter'd state might learn.

Yet sometimes heav'd a secret sigh,
Lest Galvan's stern command,
Or soft'ning tears, her heart had bow'd
To haughty Edbald's hand.

END OF THE FOURTH PART.