The children they hear with affright.

“If the husband, the father, thus treats you with scorn,
If the holiest bonds by him rashly are torn,

Then come to your father—­to me! 
The beggar may gladden life’s pathway forlorn,

Though aged and weak he may be. 
This castle is mine! thou hast made it thy prey,

Thy people ’twas put me to flight;
The tokens I bear will confirm what I say”—­

The children they hear with delight.

“The king who erst govern’d returneth again,
And restores to the Faithful the goods that were ta’en,

I’ll unseal all my treasures the while;
The laws shall be gentle, and peaceful the reign”—­

The old man thus cries with a smile—­
“Take courage, my son! all hath turned out for good,

And each hath a star that is bright,
Those the princess hath borne thee are princely in blood,”—­

The children thy hear with delight.

1816.
-----
The violet.

Upon the mead a violet stood,
Retiring, and of modest mood,

In truth, a violet fair. 
Then came a youthful shepherdess,
And roam’d with sprightly joyousness,
And blithely woo’d

With carols sweet the air

“Ah!” thought the violet, “had I been
For but the smallest moment e’en

Nature’s most beauteous flower,
’Till gather’d by my love, and press’d,
When weary, ’gainst her gentle breast,
For e’en, for e’en

One quarter of an hour!”

Alas! alas! the maid drew nigh,
The violet failed to meet her eye,

She crush’d the violet sweet. 
It sank and died, yet murmur’d not: 
“And if I die, oh, happy lot,
For her I die,

And at her very feet!”

1775.*
-----
The faithless boy.

There was a wooer blithe and gay,

A son of France was he,—­
Who in his arms for many a day,

As though his bride were she,
A poor young maiden had caress’d,
And fondly kiss’d, and fondly press’d,

And then at length deserted.

When this was told the nut-brown maid,

Her senses straightway fled;
She laugh’d and wept, and vow’d and pray’d,

And presently was dead. 
The hour her soul its farewell took,
The boy was sad, with terror shook,

Then sprang upon his charger.

He drove his spurs into his side,

And scour’d the country round;
But wheresoever he might ride,

No rest for him was found. 
For seven long days and nights he rode,
It storm’d, the waters overflow’d,

It bluster’d, lighten’d, thunder’d.

On rode he through the tempest’s din,

Till he a building spied;
In search of shelter crept he in,

When he his steed had tied. 
And as he groped his doubtful way,
The ground began to rock and sway,—­