XVI. Anon some wilder portraiture he draws; Nor living voice nor motion marks around; XVII. Pleased with his guest, the good man still would ply Each earnest question, and his converse court ; But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short. "In England thou hast been,-and, by report, An orphan's name (quoth Albert) may'st have known. Sad tale!—when latest fell our frontier fort,— Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him as my own. XVIII. Young Henry Waldegrave! three delightful years His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee; They tore him from us when but twelve years old, And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consoled!" XIX. His face the wanderer hid-but could not hide A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell; "And speak! mysterious stranger! (Gertrude cried) It is it is!-I knew-I knew him well! 'Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to tell ! " A burst of joy the father's lips declare! XX. "And will ye pardon then (replied the youth) away. XXI. But here ye live, ye bloom,-in each dear face, And well I know your hearts are still the same— Nay, wherefore weep ye, friends, on such a joyous day?" XXII. "And art thou here? or is it but a dream? And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou, leave us more?" No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem Than aught on earth-than ev'n thyself of yore I will not part thee from thy father's shore; XXIII. At morn, as if beneath a galaxy Of over-arching groves in blossoms white, And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight: The utterance that seal'd thy sacred bond, fond XXIV. "Flower of my life, so lovely and so lone! Whom I would rather in this desert meet, Scorning, and scorn'd by fortune's power, than Own Her pomp and splendours lavish'd at my feet! Turn not from me thy breath more exquisite Than odours cast on heaven's own shrine-to please Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet, XXV. Then would that home admit them-happier far Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon, While, here and there, a solitary star Flush'd in the darkening firmament of June; And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon, Ineffable, which I may not portray; For never did the hymenean moon A paradise of hearts more sacred sway, In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray. GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. PART III. I. O LOVE! in such a wilderness as this, Shall love behold the spark of earth-born time expire. II. Three little moons, how short! amidst the grove While she, beside her buskin❜d youth to rove, Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume; |