Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/20

    "Ulric! thou know'st how dearly lov'd
The scenes where first my childhood rov'd;
The woods, the rocks, that tower supreme
Above our own majestic stream,
The halls where first my heartbeat high
To the proud songs of chivalry.
All, all are dear—yet these are ties
Affection well may sacrifice;
Lov'd though they be, where'er thou art,
There is the country of my heart!
Yet, is there one, who, 'reft of me,
Were lonely as a blasted tree;
One, who still hop'd my hand should close
His eyes, in Nature's last repose;
Eve gathers round him—on his brow
Already rests the wintry snow;
His form is bent, his features wear
The deepening lines of age and care,
His faded eye hath lost its fire;
Thou wouldst not tear me from my sire?
Yet tell me all—thy woes impart,
My Ulric! to a faithful heart,
Which sooner far—oh! doubt not this—
Would share thy pangs, than others' bliss."

    "Ella, what wouldst thou?—'tis a tale
Will make that cheek as marble pale!
Yet what avails it to conceal
All thou too soon must know and feel?
It must, it must be told—prepare,
And nerve that gentle heart to bear!
But I—Oh! was it then for me
The herald of thy woes to be;
Thy soul's bright calmness to destroy,
And wake thee first from dreams of joy?
Forgive!—I would not ruder tone
Should make the fearful tidings known,
I would not that unpitying eyes
Should coldly watch thine agonies!
Better 'twere mine—that task severe,
To cloud thy breast with grief and fear.

    "Hast thou not heard, in legends old,
Wild tales that turn the life-blood cold,
Of those who meet in cave or glen,
Far from the busy walks of men;