12
“I bring thee here my fortress keys,
I bring my captive train;
I pledge my faith, my liege, my lord,
Oh! break my father’s chain.”
“Rise, rise! even now thy father comes,
A ransomed man this day,
Mount thy good steed, and thou and I
Will meet him on his way.”
Then lightly rose that loyal son,
And bounded on his steed,
And urged, as if with lance in hand,
His charger’s foaming speed.
And lo! from far as on they press'd
They met a glittering band,
With one that ’mid them stately rode,
Like a leader in the land:
Now haste, Bernardo, haste,
For there in very truth is he,
The father—whom thy grateful heart
Hath yearned so long to see.
His proud breast heaved, his dark eye flash’d,
His cheeks’ hue came and went,
He reach’d that grey-haired chieftain’s side
And there dismounting bent;
A lowly knee to earth he bent,
His father’s hand he took—
What was there in its touch,
That all his fiery spirit shook?
That hand was cold—a frozen thing;
It dropp’d from his like lead:
He look’d up to the face above,
The face was of the dead;
A plume waved o’er the noble brow,
The brow was fixed and white;
He met at length his father’s eyes,
But in them was no sight!
Up from the ground he sprung, and gazed,
But who can paint that gaze?
They hush’d their very hearts who saw
Its horror and amaze;
