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twenty years in prison, for the love of his Amanda———
She—(Amanda) all the time wandering barefoot, and with dishevell'd hair, o'er rocks and mountains enquiring for Amandus—Amandus! Amandus!—making every hill and vally to echo back his name———
Amandus! Amandus!
at every town and city sitting down forlorn at the gate———Has Amandus!—has my Amandus enter'd?—till,—going round, and round, and round the world—chance unexpected bringing them at the same moment of the night, though by different ways, to the gate of Lyons their native city, and each in well known accents calling out aloud,
Is
