 | Young Arthur |  |
His tale of woe the penitent began,
Ere while recited of the will-warp'd man:
The maid he lov'd, the maid thro' Suffolk lost,
The maid he marr'd for ever, to his cost,
Was love-lorn Alice—here, his voice subdued,
He paus'd, look'd prayer to heaven, and then pursued—
“'Twas that man's daughter—and an hapless son
Clos'd our sad loves—O, heaven, thy will be done!
It's mother died; I liv'd, but liv'd alone
In this dread hour the evil to atone;
Just! just the penalty my crime has prov'd!
Yet heaven can justify how much I lov'd;
How much I languish'd, and how true I meant,
'Till crush'd my hopes, and withered my intent;
By force united of a guardian's mood,
A fortune forfeit, and the claims of blood,
A father's last command—these chose a bride—
A heartless hand I gave, and Alice—died.”
Beauclerc and Brandon, here, each droop'd his head,
And tear for tear, with grief responsive, shed;
While generous sympathy possess'd each mind,
Now the knight's words a ready utterance find;—
“That child I nurtur'd with a secret care,
My name was noble, and my fame was fair;
To glory bred, my honour's stain I fear'd,
My heart not callous, nor my conscience sear'd;
High born and haughty were the guides supplied
To lead my footsteps in the path of pride;
The pride of birth, of dignity, renown,
And all false shame, as splendid, loves to crown.
Ere while recited of the will-warp'd man:
The maid he lov'd, the maid thro' Suffolk lost,
The maid he marr'd for ever, to his cost,
Was love-lorn Alice—here, his voice subdued,
He paus'd, look'd prayer to heaven, and then pursued—
“'Twas that man's daughter—and an hapless son
Clos'd our sad loves—O, heaven, thy will be done!
It's mother died; I liv'd, but liv'd alone
In this dread hour the evil to atone;
Just! just the penalty my crime has prov'd!
Yet heaven can justify how much I lov'd;
How much I languish'd, and how true I meant,
'Till crush'd my hopes, and withered my intent;
311
A fortune forfeit, and the claims of blood,
A father's last command—these chose a bride—
A heartless hand I gave, and Alice—died.”
Beauclerc and Brandon, here, each droop'd his head,
And tear for tear, with grief responsive, shed;
While generous sympathy possess'd each mind,
Now the knight's words a ready utterance find;—
“That child I nurtur'd with a secret care,
My name was noble, and my fame was fair;
To glory bred, my honour's stain I fear'd,
My heart not callous, nor my conscience sear'd;
High born and haughty were the guides supplied
To lead my footsteps in the path of pride;
The pride of birth, of dignity, renown,
And all false shame, as splendid, loves to crown.
| Young Arthur | |