Or 'neath some mighty minster's solemn pile,
Dim arch, and fretted roof, and long-drawn aisle,
How rush'd the heart's blood wildly to her face,
When, from the living organ's thunder-chime,
The full Te Deum burst in melody sublime.
xliii.
Yet, 'mid the magic of those regal walls,
The glittering train, the courtier's flattering tone,
Or by her lord, thro' fair ancestral halls,
Led on, to claim their treasures as her own,
Stole back, the scenery of her solitude:—
An aged father, in his cabin rude,
Mix'd with her dreams a melancholy moan,
Notching his simple calendar with pain,
And straining his red eye to watch the misty main.
xliv.
Prayer,—prayer for him!—when the young dawn arose
With its grey banner, or red day declin'd;
Up went his name, for ever blent with those
Most close and strong around her soul entwin'd,—
Husband and child;—and, as the time drew near
To fold him to her heart with filial tear,
For her first home, her warm affections pin'd.—
That time,—it came not! for a viewless hand
Was stretch'd to bar her foot from her green childhood's land.
