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Glar'd its blue flame around. The wood is past, And he has gain'd the steep ascent which leads To Ethlin's Castle.—He has entered now;— 'Tis a young warrior, and his bosom wears The red-cross. Instant cries of joy arise, And words of greeting; one to meet him sprang, And clasp'd him in her arms, while his warm cheek Was wet with her sweet tears of tenderness— My brother! oh, my brother! welcome home. She started back, half sorrow half surprise, From his averted clasp, and on him gaz'd Almost reproachfully; and then her glance Fell on a stranger's form: she turn'd and hid Her gathering blushes in her father's arms. The stranger spoke no word, but gave an urn Unto that venerable chieftain's hand. It told its tale too well; the dear, the lost, For whom their lips yet trembled with the words Of fond affection hailing his return,