Then passed o'er good Sir Ardolph's face
A cast of deadly pale;

But soon composed, with manly grace,
He thus renewed his tale :-

"For him my heart too much has bled;
For him, my darling son,

Has sorrow pressed my hoary head:
But Heaven's high will be done!

"Scarce eighteen winters had revolved,
To crown the circling year,
Before my valiant boy resolved
The warrior's lance to bear.

"Too high I prized my native land,
Too dear his fame I held,
T'oppose a parent's stern command,
And keep him from the field.

"He left me-left his sister too,
Yet tears bedewed his face-
What could a feeble, old man do?
He burst from my embrace.

"O, thirst of glory, fatal flame!
O, laurels dearly bought!

Yet sweet is death, when earned with fame; So virtuous Edwy thought.

"Full manfully the brave boy strove,
Though pressing ranks oppose;

But weak the strongest arm must prove
Against a host of foes.

"I would have died-I sought to die,
But Heaven restrained the thought,
And to my passion-clouded eye
My helpless Birtha brought.

"When, lo! arrayed in robes of light,
A nymph celestial came;

She cleared the mists that dimmed my sight-
Religion was her name;

"She proved the chastisement divine,
And bade me kiss the rod;
She taught this rebel heart of mine
Submission to its God.

"Religion taught me to sustain What nature bade me feel; And piety relieved the pain

Which time can never heal."

He ceased-with sorrow and delight
The tale Sir Eldred hears;
Then weeping cries-" Thou noble knight,
For thanks accept my tears.

"O Ardolph, might I dare aspire
To claim so bright a boon !
Good old Sir Eldred was my sire-
And thou hast lost a son.

"And though I want a worthier plea,
To urge so dear a cause,
Yet let me to thy bosom be
What once thy Edwy was.

"My trembling tongue its aid denies;
For thou may'st disapprove :

Then read it in my ardent eyes,

O! read the tale of love.

Thy beauteous Birtha!". "Gracious Power!
How could I e'er repine,"

Cries Ardolph, "since I see this hour?

Yes-Birtha shall be thine.'

A little, transient gleam of red
Shot faintly o'er her face,
And every trembling feature spread
With sweet disordered grace.

The tender father kindly smiled
With fulness of content,
And fondly eyed his darling child,
Who, bashful, blushed consent.

O then to paint the vast delight
That filled Sir Eldred's heart,
To tell the transports of the knight
Would mock the muse's art.

But every kind and gracious soul,
Where gentle passions dwell
Will better, far, conceive the whole,
Then any muse can tell.

The more the knight his Birtha knew,
The more he prized the maid;
Some worth each day produced to view,
Some grace each hour betrayed.

The virgin too was fond to charm
The dear accomplished youth;
His single breast she strove to warm,
And crowned with love his truth;

Unlike the dames of modern days,
Who general homage claim;
Who court the universal gaze,
And pant for public fame.

Then beauty but on merit smiled,

Nor were her chaste smiles sold,
No venal father gave his child
For grandeur or for gold.

The ardor of young Eldred's flame
But ill could brook delay;

And oft he pressed the maid to name
A speedy nuptial day.

The fond impatience of his breast

'Twas all in vain to hide; But she his eager suit repressed With modest maiden pride.

When oft Sir Eldred pressed the day
Which was to crown his truth,
The thoughtful sire would sigh and say,
"O happy state of youth!

"It little recks the woes which wait
To scare its dreams of joy;
Nor thinks to-morrow's altered fate
May all those dreams destroy.

"And though the flatterer Hope deceives,
And painted prospects shows,
Yet man, still cheated, still believes,
Till death the bright scene close.

"So looked my bride, so sweetly mild,
On me, her beauty's slave;

But whilst she looked, and whilst she smiled, She sunk into the grave.

"Yet, O forgive an old man's care;

Forgive a father's zeal;

Who fondly loves must greatly fear;
Who fears must greatly feel.

"Once more in soft and sacred bands
Shall love and hymen meet:
To-morrow shall unite your hands,
And-be your bliss complete!"

The rising sun inflamed the sky,
The golden orient blushed;
But Birtha's cheeks a sweeter dye,
A brighter crimson flushed.

The priest, in milk-white vestments clad,
Performed the mystic rite;

Love lit the hallowed torch that led

To Hymen's chaste delight.

How feeble language were to speak
Th' immeasurable joy

That fired Sir Eldred's ardent cheek,
And triumphed in his eye!

Sir Ardolph's pleasure stood confessed,
A pleasure all his own;

The guarded pleasure of a breast
Which many a grief had known.

'Twas such a sober sense of joy
As angels well might keep;
A joy chastised by piety,
A joy prepared to weep.

To recollect her scattered thought,
And shun the noon-tide hour,
The lovely bride in secret sought
The coolness of her bower.

Long she remained-th' enamored knight, Impatient at her stay,

And all unfit to taste delight

When Birtha was away,

Betakes him to the secret bower;
His footsteps softly move;
Impelled by every tender power,
He steals upon his love.

O, horror! horror! blasting sight!
He sees his Birtha's charms,
Reclined with melting, fond delight,
Within a stranger's arms.

Wild frenzy fires his frantic hand;
Distracted at the sight,

He flies to where the lovers stand,
And stabs the stranger knight.

'Die, traitor, die! thy guilty flames Demand th' avenging steel!""It is my brother," she exclaims, ""Tis Edwy-O farewell!"