Puslapio vaizdai
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He had unlawful thoughts of many things:
And though he prayed, he never loved to pray
With holy men, nor in a holy place-

But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,

The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him.
And once, as by the north side of the Chapel
They stood together, chained in deep discourse,
The earth heaved under them with such a groan,
That the wall tottered, and had well-nigh fallen
Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely
frightened;

A fever seized him, and he made confession

Of all the heretical and lawless talk

Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized
And cast into that hole. My husband's father
Sobbed like a child-it almost broke his heart:
And once as he was working in the cellar,
He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's,
Who sung a doleful song about green fields,

How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah,
To hunt for food, and be a naked man,

And wander up and down at liberty.

He always doted on the youth, and now

His love grew desperate; and defying death, He made that cunning entrance I described: And the young man escaped.

MARIA.

'Tis a sweet tale:

Such as would lull a listening child to sleep, His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears. And what became of him?

FOSTER-MOTHER.

He went on ship-board

With those bold voyagers, who made discovery
Of golden lands. Leoni's younger brother
Went likewise, and when he returned to Spain,
He told Leoni, that the poor mad youth,
Soon after they arrived in that new world,
In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat,
And all alone, set sail by silent moonlight

Up a great river, great as any sea,

And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis supposed,

He lived and died among the savage men.

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-NAY, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree

stands

Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb;
What if these barren boughs the bee not loves;
Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves,
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.

-Who he was

That piled these stones, and with the mossy sod

First covered o'er, and taught this aged tree,
Now wild, to bend its arms in circling shade,
I well remember.-He was one who own'd
No common soul. In youth, by genius nurs'd,
And big with lofty views, he to the world.
Went forth, pure in his heart, against the taint
Of dissolute tongues, 'gainst jealousy, and hate,
And scorn, against all enemies prepared,
All but neglect: and so, his spirit damped
At once, with rash disdain he turned away,
And with the food of pride sustained his soul
In solitude. Stranger! these gloomy boughs
Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit,
His only visitants a straggling sheep,
The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper;
And on these barren rocks, with juniper,
And heath, and thistle, thinly sprinkled o'er,
Fixing his downward eye, he many an hour
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here
An emblem of his own unfruitful life :

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