Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/55

A moment! oh! to Ulric's soul,
Pois'd between hope and fear's controul,
What slow, unmeasur’d hours, went by,
Ere yet suspense grew certainty!
It came at length—once more that face
Reveal'd to man its mournful grace;
A sunbeam on its features fell,
As if to bear the world's farewell;
And doubt was o'er—his heart grew chill—
'Twas she—though chang'd, 'twas Ella still!
Though now her once-rejoicing mien,
Was deeply, mournfully serene;
Though clouds her eye's blue lustre shaded,
And the young cheek beneath had faded,
Well, well he knew the form, which cast
Light on his soul through all the past!
'Twas with him on the battle plain,
'Twas with him on the stormy main,
'Twas in his visions, when the shield
Pillow'd his head on tented field;
'Twas a bright beam that led him on,
Where'er a triumph might be won,
In danger as in glory nigh,
An angel-guide to victory!

    She caught his pale bewilder'd gaze,
Of grief half lost in fix'd amaze
Was it some vain illusion, wrought
By frenzy of impassion'd thought?
Some phantom, such as Grief hath power
To summon, in her wandering hour?
No! it was he! the lost, the mourn'd,
Too deeply lov'd, too late return'd?