Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/27

 Think on the glorious names that shine Along thy sire's majestic line; Oh, last of that illustrious race! Thou wert not born to meet disgrace! Well, well I know each grief, each pain, Thy spirit nobly could sustain; E'en I unshrinking see them near, And what hast thou to do with fear? But when hath warriors calmly borne The cold and bitter smile of scorn? 'Tis not for thee—thy soul hath force To cope with all things—but remorse; And this my brightest thought shall be, Thou hast not brav'd its pangs for me. Go! break thou not one solemn vow; Clos'd be the fearful conflict now; Go! but forget not how my heart Still at thy name will proudly start, When chieftains hear, and minstrels tell Thy deeds of glory—fare thee well!"

And thus they parted—why recall The scene of anguish known to all? The burst of tears, the blush of pride, That fain those fruitless tears would hide; The lingering look, the last embrace, Oh! what avails it to retrace? They parted—in that bitter word A thousand tones of grief are heard, Whose deeply-seated echoes rest In the far cells of every breast; Who hath not known, who shall not know That keen, yet most familiar woe? Where'er affection‘s home is found, It meets her on the holy ground; The cloud of every summer-hour, The canker'd worm of every flower; Who but hath prov'd, or yet shall prove, That mortal agony of love?