In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you— 'Tis more like heaven to come than what has been. MARIA. O my dear Mother! this strange man has left me FOSTER-MOTHER. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! MA IA. o one. FOSTER-MOTHER My husband's father told it me, Poor old Leoni!—Angels rest his soul ! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel ? Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool And so the babe grew up a pretty boy, And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself: And all the autumn 'twas his only play To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them So he became a very learned youth. But Oh! poor wretch !—he read, and read, and read, "Till his brain turned—and ere his twentieth year, He had unlawful thoughts of many things: But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him. Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized And wander up and down at liberty. MARIA. 'Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a listening child to sleep, FOSTER-MOTHER. He went on ship-board With those bold voyagers, who made discovery |