II.

  There came a maiden to that lonely boy,
  And like to him as is the morn to night;
  Her sunny face a very type of joy,
  And with her soul’s unclouded lustre bright. 
  Still scantier summers had her brow illumed
  Than that on which she threw a witching smile,
  Unconscious of the spell that could beguile
  His being of the burthen it was doomed
  By his ancestral blood to bear:  a spirit,
  Rife with desponding thoughts and fancies drear,
  A moody soul that men sometimes inherit,
  And worse than all the woes the world may bear. 
  But when he met that maiden’s dazzling eye,
  He bade each gloomy image baffled fly.

  III.

  Amid the shady woods and sunny lawns
  The maiden and the youth now wander, gay
  As the bright birds, and happy as the fawns,
  Their sportive rivals, that around them play;
  Their light hands linked in love, the golden hours
  Unconscious fly, while thus they graceful roam,
  And careless ever till the voice of home
  Recalled them from their sunshine find their flowers;
  For then they parted:  to his lonely pile
  The orphan-chief, for though his woe to lull,
  The maiden called him brother, her fond smile
  Gladdened another hearth, while his was dull
  Yet as they parted, she reproved his sadness,
  And for his sake she gaily whispered gladness.

  IV.

  She was the daughter of a noble race,
  That beauteous girl, and yet she owed her name
  To one who needs no herald’s skill to trace
  His blazoned lineage, for his lofty fame
  Lives in the mouth of men, and distant climes
  Re-echo his wide glory; where the brave
  Are honoured, where ’tis noble deemed to save
  A prostrate nation, and for future times
  Work with a high devotion, that no taunt,
  Or ribald lie, or zealot’s eager curse,
  Or the short-sighted world’s neglect can daunt,
  That name is worshipped!  His immortal verse
  Blends with his god-like deeds, a double spell
  To bind the coming age he loved too well!

  V.

  For, from his ancient home, a scatterling,
  They drove him forth, unconscious of their prize,
  And branded as a vile unhallowed thing,
  The man who struggled only to be wise. 
  And even his hearth rebelled, the duteous wife,
  Whose bosom well might soothe in that dark hour,
  Swelled with her gentle force the world’s harsh power,
  And aimed her dart at his devoted life. 
  That struck; the rest his mighty soul might scorn,
  But when his household gods averted stood,
  ’Twas the last pang that cannot well be borne
  When tortured e’en to torpor:  his heart’s blood
  Flowed to the unseen blow:  then forth he went,
  And gloried in his ruthless banishment.

  VI.