A new-born pledge of love within his home,
  His alien home, the exiled father left;
  And when, like Cain, he wandered forth to roam,
  A Cain without his solace, all bereft,
  Stole down his pallid cheek the scalding tear,
  To think a stranger to his tender love
  His child must grow, untroubled where might rove
  His restless life, or taught perchance to fear
  Her father’s name, and bred in sullen hate,
  Shrink from his image.  Thus the gentle maid,
  Who with her smiles had soothed an orphan’s fate,
  Had felt an orphan’s pang; yet undismayed,
  Though taught to deem her sire the child of shame,
  She clung with instinct to that reverent name!

  VII.

  Time flew; the boy became a man; no more
  His shadow falls upon his cloistered hall,
  But to a stirring world he learn’d to pour
  The passion of his being, skilled to call
  From the deep caverns of his musing thought
  Shadows to which they bowed, and on their mind
  To stamp the image of his own; the wind,
  Though all unseen, with force or odour fraught,
  Can sway mankind, and thus a poet’s voice,
  Now touched with sweetness, now inflamed with rage,
  Though breath, can make us grieve and then rejoice: 
  Such is the spell of his creative page,
  That blends with all our moods; and thoughts can yield
  That all have felt, and yet till then were sealed.

  VIII.

  The lute is sounding in a chamber bright
  With a high festival; on every side,
  Soft in the gleamy blaze of mellowed light,
  Fair women smile, and dancers graceful glide;
  And words still sweeter than a serenade
  Are breathed with guarded voice and speaking eyes,
  By joyous hearts in spite of all their sighs;
  But byegone fantasies that ne’er can fade
  Retain the pensive spirit of the youth;
  Reclined against a column he surveys
  His laughing compeers with a glance, in sooth,
  Careless of all their mirth:  for other days
  Enchain him with their vision, the bright hours
  Passed with the maiden in their sunny bowers.

  IX.

  Why turns his brow so pale, why starts to life
  That languid eye?  What form before unseen,
  With all the spells of hallowed memory rife,
  Now rises on his vision?  As the Queen
  Of Beauty from her bed of sparkling foam
  Sprang to the azure light, and felt the air,
  Soft as her cheek, the wavy dancers bear
  To his rapt sight a mien that calls his home,
  His cloistered home, before him, with his dreams
  Prophetic strangely blending.  The bright muse
  Of his dark childhood still divinely beams
  Upon his being; glowing with the hues
  That painters love, when raptured pencils soar
  To trace a form that nations may adore!

  X.