The word, by others dreaded, he can hear Composed and silent, without visible sign Of even the least emotion. Noting this When the impatient Object of his love Upbraided him with slackness, he returned No answer, only took the Mother's hand And kissed it seemingly devoid of pain, Or care, that what so tenderly he pressed, Was a dependant upon the obdurate heart Of One who came to disunite their lives For ever sad alternative! preferred, By the unbending Parents of the Maid, To secret 'spousals meanly disavowed.
In the city he remained
A season after Julia had withdrawn
To those religious walls. He, too, departsWho with him?
even the senseless Little-one!
With that sole Charge he passed the city-gates,
For the last time, attendant by the side
Of a close chair, a litter, or sedan,
In which the Babe was carried. To a hill,
That rose a brief league distant from the town, The Dwellers in that house where he had lodged
Accompanied his steps, by anxious love Impelled: - they parted from him there, and stood Watching below, till he had disappeared
On the hill-top. His eyes he scarcely took, Throughout that journey, from the vehicle (Slow-moving ark of all his hopes!) that veiled The tender Infant and at every inn, And under every hospitable tree
At which the Bearers halted or reposed,
Laid him with timid care upon his knees,
And looked, as mothers ne'er were known to look, Upon the Nursling which his arms embraced.
This was the manner in which Vaudracour
Departed with his Infant; and thus reached His Father's house, where to the innocent Child Admittance was denied. The young Man spake No words of indignation or reproof,
But of his Father begged, a last request, That a retreat might be assigned to him Where in forgotten quiet he might dwell, With such allowance as his wants required; For wishes he had none. To a Lodge that stood Deep in a forest, with leave given, at the age Of four-and-twenty summers he withdrew;
And thither took him with his infant Babe, And one Domestic, for their common needs, An aged Woman. It consoled him here To attend upon the Orphan, and perform Obsequious service to the precious Child, Which, after a short time, by some mistake, Or indiscretion of the Father, died.—
The Tale I follow to its last recess
Of suffering or of peace, I know not which;
Theirs be the blame who caused the woe, not mine!
From this time forth he never shared a smile
With mortal creature. An Inhabitant
Of that same Town, in which the Pair had left So lively a remembrance of their griefs,
By chance of business, coming within reach Of his retirement, to the spot repaired With an intent to visit him. He reached The house, and only found the Matron there, Who told him that his pains were thrown away, For that her Master never uttered word To living Thing—not even to her.- Behold! While they were speaking, Vaudracour approached; But, seeing some one near, even as his hand Was stretched towards the garden gate, he shrunk
And, like a shadow, glided out of view.
Shocked at his savage aspect, from the place
Thus lived the Youth
Cut off from all intelligence with man,
And shunning even the light of common day;
Nor could the voice of Freedom, which through
Full speedily resounded, public hope,
Or personal memory of his own deep wrongs, Rouse him but in those solitary shades His days he wasted, an imbecile mind!
Ir from the public way you turn your steps Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, You will suppose that with an upright path Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent The pastoral Mountains front you, face to face. But, courage! for beside that boisterous Brook The mountains have all opened out themselves, And made a hidden valley of their own. No habitation there is seen; but such
As journey thither find themselves alone
› With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites That overhead are sailing in the sky.
It is in truth an utter solitude;
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell But for one object which you might pass by, Might see and notice not. Beside the brook
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