She raised her eyes in mournful mood,

WILTON himself before her stood!

It might have seemed his passing ghost,

For every youthful grace was lost;
And joy unwonted, and surprise,

Gave their strange wildness to his eyes.--
Expect not, noble dames and lords,

Than I can tell such scene in words:
What skilful limner ere would chuse
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were given

To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ?
Far less can my weak line declare
Each changing passion's shade;
Brightening to rapture from despair,
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there,
And joy, with her angelic air,

And hope, that paints the future fair,

Their varying hues displayed:

Each o'er its rival's ground extending,

Alternate conquering, shifting, blending,

Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield,
And mighty Love retains the field.

Shortly I tell what then he said,

By many a tender word delayed,
And modest blush, and bursting sigh,

And question kind, and fond reply.

VI.

De Wilton's History.

"Forget we that disastrous day,

When senseless in the lists I lay.

Thence dragged,-but how I cannot know,

For sense and recollection fled,

I found me on a pallet low,

Within my ancient beadsman's shed.

Austin, remember'st thou, my Clare,

How thou didst blush, when the old man,

When first our infant love began,

Said we would make a matchless pair ?—
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled

From the degraded traitor's bed,

He only held my burning head,

And tended me for many a day,

While wounds and fever held their sway.
But far more needful was his care,

When sense returned to wake despair;
For I did tear the closing wound,

And dash me frantic on the ground,
If e'er I heard the name of Clare.
At length, to calmer reason brought,
Much by his kind attendance wrought,
With him I left my native strand,
And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed,
My hated name and form to shade,
I journeyed many a land ;
No more a lord of rank and birth,
But mingled with the dregs of earth.
Oft Austin for my reason feared,

When I would sit, and deeply brood
On dark revenge, and deeds of blood,

Or wild mad schemes upreared.

My friend at length fell sick, and said,

God would remove him soon;

And, while upon his dying bed,

He begged of me a boon

If ere my deadliest enemy

Beneath my brand should conquered lie,

Even then my mercy should awake,

And spare his life for Austin's sake.

VII.

"Still restless as a second Cain,

To Scotland next my route was taʼen.

Full well the paths I knew;

Fame of my fate made various sound,
That death in pilgrimage I found,

That I had perished of my wound,—
None cared which tale was true :

And living eye could never guess

De Wilton in his palmer's dress;

For now that sable slough is shed,

And trimmed my shaggy beard and head,

I scarcely know me in the glass.

A chance most wondrous did provide,

That I should be that Baron's guide

I will not name his name!

Vengeance to God alone belongs;

But, when I think on all my wrongs,
My blood is liquid flame!

And ne'er the time shall I forget,
When, in a Scottish hostel set,

Dark looks we did exchange:

What were his thoughts I cannot tell;
But in my bosom mustered Hell

Its plans of dark revenge.

VIII.

"A word of vulgar augury,

That broke from me, I scarce knew why,

Brought on a village tale;

Which wrought upon his moody sprite,

And sent him armed forth by night.

I borrowed steed and mail,