298 REMARKS ON THE SPEECH OF M. Dupont. heart of one man. Give them not finally over to their own corrupt imaginations, to their own hearts' lusts. But after having made them a fearful example to all the nations of the earth, what a people can do, who have cast off the fear of Thee, do Thou graciously bring them back to a sense of that law which they have violated, and to a participation of that mercy which they have abused; so that they may happily find, while the discovery can be attended with hope and consolation, that "doubtless there is a reward for the righteous; verily there is a God who judgeth the earth." THERE was a young and valiant knight; Sir Eldred was his name; And never did a worthier wight The rank of knighthood claim. Where gliding Tay her streams sends forth The ancient glory of the north, Sir Eldred's castle stood. The knight was rich as knight might be In patrimonial wealth; And rich in nature's gifts was he— In youth, and strength, and health. He did not think, as some have thought, The fame a father dearly bought He better thought, a noble sire, The fairest ancestry on earth Sir Eldred's heart was ever kind, A crowd of virtues graced his mind; When merit raised the sufferer's name, And those who could not prove that claim But sacred truth the muse compels His errors to impart ; And yet the muse reluctant tells The fault of Eldred's heart. Though mild and soft as infant love Yet if the passions stormed his soul, The fierce resentment scorned control, Not Thule's waves so wildly break, Not Etna's entrails fiercer shake, Or Scythia's tempests roar. As when, in summer's sweetest day, The sighing breezes softly stray Sudden the lightning's blast descends, But when, to clear his stormy breast, And ebbing passions sunk to rest, O then what anguish he betrayed! The meek-eyed dawn, in saffron robe, Up rose the sun to gild the globe The birds their vernal notes repeat, With many a song When pious Eldred early rose The Lord of all to hail, Who life with all its gifts bestows, Whose mercies never fail! That done he left his woodland glade, He loved to court the distant shade, Within the bosom of a wood, While many a prouder castle fell, The house where guardian virtues dwell Of eglantine an humble fence Around the mansion stood, Which served at once to charm the sense, And screen an infant wood. The wood received an added grace, And viewed its ever-verdant face The smallness of the stream did well But little streams may serve to tell This mansion owned an aged knight, As Heaven just shows to human sight, His youth, in many a well-fought field, His bosom, like a well-worn shield, The vigor of green old age And sorrow more than age can break One darling daughter soothed his cares, |