XX.

And will ye pardon then (replied the youth)

Your Waldegrave's feigned name, and false attire?

'I durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth,

The very fortunes of your house inquire;

Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire

Impart, and I my weakness all betray,

For had I lost my Gertrude, and my sire,

I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day;

· Unknown I meant to weep, unknown to pass away.

XXI.

6

But here ye live,-ye bloom,-in each dear face

'The changing hand of time I may not blame;

For there, it hath but shed more reverend grace,

' And well I know your hearts are still the same,

They could not change-ye look the very way,
I came.

As when an orphan first to you

And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray?

Nay wherefore weep we, 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;

But we shall cherish him with mutual arms;

And hand in hand again the path explore,

'Which every ray of young remembrance warms;

While thou shalt be my own with all thy truth and charms.

G

XXIII.

At morn, as if beneath a galaxy

Of over-arching groves in blossoms white,

Where all was od'rous scent and harmony,

And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight:
There if, oh gentle love! I read aright,

The utterance that seal'd thy sacred bond,
'Twas list'ning to these accents of delight,

She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond

Expression's pow'r to paint, all languishingly fond.

XXIV.

Flow'r of my life, so lovely, and so lone!

Whom I would rather in this desart meet,

Scorning, and scorn'd by fortune's pow'r, than own

Her pomp and splendors lavish'd at my feet!

‹ Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite

· Than odours cast on heav'n's own shrine-to please— 'Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet,

'And more than all the wealth that loads the breeze,

When Coromandel's ships return from Indian seas.'

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 dark'ning firmament of June;

And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon,

Ineffable, which I may not pourtray;

For never did the Hymenean moon

A paradise of hearts more sacred sway,

In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray.