XV. Judge both Fugitives with knowledge: Foes might hang upon their path, snakes rustle near, XVI. Thought infirm ne'er came between them, With accordant steps, or gathering Forest-fruit with social hands; Or whispering like two reeds that in the cold moon beam Bend with the breeze their heads, beside a crystal stream. XVII. On a friendly deck reposing They at length for Venice steer; There, when they had closed their voyage, One, who daily on the pier Watched for tidings from the East, beheld his Lord, Fell down and clasped his knees for joy, not uttering word. XVIII. Mutual was the sudden transport; Breathless questions followed fast, Years contracting to a moment, Each word geedier than the last; Hie thee to the Countess, friend! return with speed, And of this Stranger speak by whom her Lord was freed. XIX. Say that I, who might have languished, Drooped and pined till life was spent, My Deliverer would present For a crowning recompense, the precious grace XX. Make it known that my Companion Is of royal eastern blood, Innocent, and meek, and good, Though with misbelievers bred; but that dark night Will holy Church disperse by beams of gospel light." XXI. Swiftly went that gray-haired Servant, For a sunny thought to cheer the Stranger's way, XXII. And how blest the Reunited While beneath their castle-walls, Blest, though every tear that falls Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell, And makes a meeting seem most like a dear farewell. XXIII. Through a haze of human nature, On that overpowering sight, While across her virgin cheek pure blushes strayed, For every tender sacrifice her heart had made. XXIV. On the ground the weeping Countess Pledge of an eternal band: Nor did aught of future days that kiss belie, XXV. Constant to the fair Armenian, Gentle pleasures round her moved, Like a tutelary spirit Reverenced, like a sister, loved. Christian meekness smoothed for all the path of life, Who, loving most, should wiseliest love, their only strife. XXVI. Mute memento of that union In a Saxon church survives, Where a cross-legged Knight lies sculptured Figures with armorial signs of race and birth, earth. A WREN'S NEST. AMONG the dwellings framed by birds In field or forest with nice care, Is none that with the little Wren's No door the tenement requires, Yet is it to the fiercest sun Impervious, and storm-proof. So warm, so beautiful withal, And when for their abodes they seek An opportune recess, The hermit has no finer eye For shadowy quietness. These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls, There, to the brooding bird her mate Warbles by fits his low clear song; And by the busy streamlet both Are sung to all day long. Or in sequestered lanes they build, But still, where general choice is good, This, one of those small builders proved For She who planned the mossy lodge, Had to a Primrose looked for aid High on the trunk's projecting brow, The treasure proudly did I show To some whose minds without disdain Can turn to little things; but once Looked up for it in vain: "Tis gone-a ruthless spoiler's prey, Who heeds not beauty, love, or song, "Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved Indignant at the wrong. |