61
He turn'd him from the grove, where each thing was
A witness of the sorrow he had caus'd;
Yet still he wander'd on: at length his step
Paus'd 'mid the silent dwellings of the dead.
Here where the yew, dark emblem of despair!
Threw its black shadow, Ethlin's race repos'd.
Here lay the vet'ran—his long warfare o'er;
The youthful hero, fallen like the pine
In its first summer; and the maiden's tomb,
Whose beauty was but as a fairy dream.
XV.
There was one grave—he knew it well again,
For he had often knelt with Adelaide,
When the affectionate tribute of her tears
Were offer'd to the dead;—what was that voice
