Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/32

Then was there meaning in his look,
Which deep that trusting spirit shook;
So wildly did each glance express
The strife of shame and bitterness,
As thus he spoke: "Fond dreams, hence!
Is this the mien of Innocence?
This furrow'd brow, this restless eye,
Read thou this fearful tale—and fly!
Is it enough? or must I seek
For words, the tale of guilt to speak?
Then be it so—I will not doom
Thy youth to wither in its bloom;
I will not see thy tender frame
Bow'd to the earth with fear and shame.
No! though I teach thee to abhor
The sire, so fondly lov’d before;
Though the dread effort rend my breast,
Yet shalt thou leave me and be blest!
Oh! bitter penance! thou wilt turn
Away in horror and in scorn;
Thy looks, that still through all the past
Affection's gentlest beams have cast,
As lightning on my heart will fall,
And I must mark and bear it all!
Yet though of life's best ties bereav'd,
Thou shalt not, must not be deceiv’d!
I linger—let me speed the tale,
Ere voice, and thought, and memory fail.
Why should I falter thus, to tell
What Heaven so long hath known too well?
Yes! though from mortal sight conceal’d,
There hath a brother's blood appeal'd!
He died—'twas not where banners wave,
And war-steeds trample on the brave;