the hermit
She ne'er had felt the breath of storm
Convulsive shake her fragile form.
She knew her father's dreaded mood,
His fierce-toned passion, wild and rude;
And could his child, his own Adel,
On whom his fondest day-dreams dwell—
Could she, the only thing he loved,
Behold that spirit deeply moved,
And feel the deep-toned anger wrest
Her image from his frenzied breast,
Nor quail beneath the storm's frown,
That bent her young heart's promise down?
. . . She knew that in her infant years
She was the promised bride of one
Whose image haunted her with fears
And terrors she in vain would shun:—
A man of noble, far descent,
O'er whom the shades of time had bent—
An agèd Count, whose treasured gold
His heart's best virtues did enfold—
A man her inmost soul would shun,
Must he, the hated, dreaded one,
Convulsive shake her fragile form.
She knew her father's dreaded mood,
His fierce-toned passion, wild and rude;
And could his child, his own Adel,
On whom his fondest day-dreams dwell—
Could she, the only thing he loved,
Behold that spirit deeply moved,
And feel the deep-toned anger wrest
Her image from his frenzied breast,
Nor quail beneath the storm's frown,
That bent her young heart's promise down?
. . . She knew that in her infant years
She was the promised bride of one
Whose image haunted her with fears
And terrors she in vain would shun:—
A man of noble, far descent,
O'er whom the shades of time had bent—
An agèd Count, whose treasured gold
His heart's best virtues did enfold—
A man her inmost soul would shun,
Must he, the hated, dreaded one,
8
