Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/32

 Then was there meaning in his look, Which deep that trusting spirit shook; So wildly did each glance express The strife of shame and bitterness, As thus he spoke: "Fond dreams, hence! Is this the mien of Innocence? This furrow'd brow, this restless eye, Read thou this fearful tale—and fly! Is it enough? or must I seek For words, the tale of guilt to speak? Then be it so—I will not doom Thy youth to wither in its bloom; I will not see thy tender frame Bow'd to the earth with fear and shame. No! though I teach thee to abhor The sire, so fondly lov’d before; Though the dread effort rend my breast, Yet shalt thou leave me and be blest! Oh! bitter penance! thou wilt turn Away in horror and in scorn; Thy looks, that still through all the past Affection's gentlest beams have cast, As lightning on my heart will fall, And I must mark and bear it all! Yet though of life's best ties bereav'd, Thou shalt not, must not be deceiv’d! I linger—let me speed the tale, Ere voice, and thought, and memory fail. Why should I falter thus, to tell What Heaven so long hath known too well? Yes! though from mortal sight conceal’d, There hath a brother's blood appeal'd! He died—'twas not where banners wave, And war-steeds trample on the brave;