 | Young Arthur |  |
313
And wasting horrors desolate my heart!—
O where that hind?”—“Here!” Hubert quick begun,
“Behold there Arthur stands, Sir Brandon's son.”
“My son? where? where?”—the peasant, no reply,
But points to Ernest with a glistening eye.
“My son? O heavens!” then sinking on his seat,
Pallid his face, his pulse forgot to beat;
All crowd around him—with hysteric scream,
Edith awakes from a confounding dream
Of fix'd attention; and her cries recal
The swooning knight, and hope relumes the hall.
Meantime old Beauclerc, with the strong surprise,
Had in suspension clos'd his aged eyes;
Recall'd to being by swift cordials given,
He gaz'd on Ernest as a gift from heaven.
Enraptur'd, Ernest, trembling, see they clasp,
Grandsire and sire in wild, alternate, grasp;
With heaven-born sympathy all hearts rebound,
Ejaculations through the hall resound,
For peace, long pray'd for, is for ever found.
But now the scene too exquisitely high
To bear the gazing of th'intrusive eye,
The guests, (with blessings beaming from each look)
With silent step their prompt departure took;
314
Swooning, reclin'd within a minstrel's arms:
That minstrel Allan, who himself made known
When she respir'd; his zealous arms her zone
Trembling she stood, for should her father's eyes
The youth encounter, hope for ever flies;
And from the scene presented she had form'd
Dreams of a hope that all her fancy warm'd.
Ernest, her brother; in parental flow,
Brandon his hate to Allan might forego:
His presence bear, and time at length improve
Notice to favour, favour warm to love.
| Young Arthur | |