1816
ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION

Adelaide of Lorraine: a Poetic Narrative of the Miseries of a noble French Family.

Adelaide of Lorraine: a Poetic Narrative of the Miseries of a noble French Family, at the Commencement of the late Revolution.

R. C. Barton


30 + 50 + 43 Spenserian stanzas, published nonymously "by a gentleman in the country." Since the original publication seems not to have been reviewed, the second edition of 1818, printed with the author's name, is likely a reissue. Barton's Adelaide is modeled on Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming rather than on Byron's Childe Harold, the resemblance residing, apart from the stanza, chiefly in the sentimental manner in which this domestic romance is told, set against the backdrop of the French Revolution. Unlike the original, there is very little description, the second and third cantos consisting almost entirely of breathless narrative. I have been unable to identify the author, who seems to have published only this one volume.

Gentleman's Magazine: "The story of this little poetic narrative is in some measure a literal representation of a noble French family, at the commencement of the late unhappy Revolution, whose miseries, by the assistance of an inventive imagination, he has attempted to pourtray. 'The work was the amusement of the Author's hours of recreation, — he received pleasure in the composition, — and if one soul congenial to his own derives satisfaction from the perusal of it, he is amply recompensed'" 88 (November 1818) 441.

Monthly Review: "Those who object to the stiffness and affectation of Campbell may here at least find a poem that is intelligible. If we have not so fine a character as the Indian chief, or any thing so grand and well sustained as his death-song, yet we have the leader of a revolutionary band, a very desperate man.... In Campbell, we have not the happy exactness in dates which we enjoy in this tale. The pair were ten years without any family; then five years happy with Adelaide in the castle; then Aristus stays in England and Portugal, apart from Adelaide, during twelve years; then for three months with Captain Fitzhenry at sea; and then five years pass before they are re-established in Lorraine. Another advantage the author has had from commencing at the very beginning, and not rushing into the midst of his history, according to the indiscreet advice of Horace, viz. he has been able to describe a christening in the first canto, a trial in the second, and then to close the eventful tale with a marriage. The third canto is more original than any of the others; but, should any person object that it contains nothing peculiarly animated or interesting, in the subject, he ought to be silenced by the declaration of the author, that 'his endeavours have been exerted to describe in flowing and harmonious language, stripped of the unnatural pomp and pageantry usually attendant on versification, scenes and actions of common life, without soaring in the boundless regions of obscure rhapsody, or blindly creeping in the more humble paths of senseless apathy'" 90 (September 1819) 101.

In the woody country of the east of France dwells the noble Aristus in feudal state: "None to his portals by distress were brought | But told their piteous tale, and found the aid they sought" p. 12. Crowds of faithful vassals celebrate at the baptism when a daughter is born to his wife Amelia. Adelaide is but five years old when a sacrilegious band begins to steep the land "in noblest blood": "Virtue with them, a crime, conspicuous stood" p. 29. His vassals abruptly turn on Aristus and assault his house with the intention murdering all of the family. With the assistance of the faithful servant Fred'ric they escape the blazing castle by a subterranean passage, but Amelia is shot and killed during the pursuit by the rebels. Fred'ric bears Adelaide to a convent in Germany, while Aristus departs for Britain: "With one long ling'ring look — he left his native land!" p. 52.

Twelve years pass during which Adelaide grows to womanhood and Aristus retires to live concealed in Portugal. Aristus in disguise travels to the convent to retrieve his now womanly daughter. They are returning through Spain when, overtaken by Napoleon's forces, they are compelled to escape aboard a British frigate. When the captain, young Fitzhenry, falls in love with Adelaide, the misinformed Aristus becomes convinced that he is a base seducer: "And now so strong the rash suspicion grows, | It racks his tortur'd soul, and breaks his sweet repose" p. 66. Five years pass, while Aristus lives in poverty and Fitzhenry distinguishes himself as an officer in the Napoleonic wars. Aristus is restored to his estates, while Adelaide pines in sorrow for the loss of her mother and the absence of her lover. At last, with the conclusion of the war a clarification is achieved and Adelaide is reunited with the British Fitzhenry.



PART THE FIRST.
There, by that stream which, famed in classic lore,
Rolls rapidly its foaming waves along,
And parts Germania from the Gallic shore
By barriers wide, impassable and strong:
There — in those plains, which oft transalpine song
Have grateful hailed a paradise on earth,
In times when virtue ruled the shepherd throng,
When peace and love were joined with modest worth,
And each contented mind, to Happiness gave birth.

Far from the din of arms, or city strife,
A Gallic noble's tow'ring mansion rose,
Where long he'd past an unambitious life,
Unhurt by cares, untouch'd by worldly woes,
In all the luxury of calm repose.
And oft did thousands for his safety pray,
Nor dared one hostile voice his will oppose,
For grateful parents blessed his natal day,
And e'en their lisping babes with garlands strewed his way.

No pompous grandeur marked his feudal power,
Nor surly menial from his castle gate
Turned the poor wanderer in misfortune's hour,
With downcast hopes in wretchedness to wait,
And mourn the horrors of his abject slate.
His household train the good Aristus taught
To feel compassion for a hapless fate—
None to his portals by distress were brought
But told their piteous tale, and found the aid they sought.

Thus in perpetual peace Aristus lived,
Nor ought of ills domestic ever knew,
His God he worshipped, and his word believed,
Firm to his king, and to his country true,
And as in years, he still in virtue grew:
A bright example to his faithful band,
By none surpassed, and equalled but by few,
Of all that governed a baronial land;
Or ruled o'er willing slaves with high protecting hand.

When the pale orb of night her form renew'd,
His feudal court in princely state was held,
Then, as in conscious dignity, he stood—
With smiles encouraged, or with frowns repelled,
As truth or falsehood in the tale excelled;
Of various claims of various injured right
Against his judgment not a voice rebelled,
But met the sentence of avenging might,
Which guards the helpless poor, and brings their wrongs to light.

Whilst thus, in public life, Aristus bore
The envied blessing of a people's love,
Feared by the base, and courted by the poor:
Whilst grateful thousands every act approve;
Still on the chief; so favor'd from above,
Heaven's richest gifts, more lasting joys, attend,
For Hymen's sacred rites must ever prove
To those that, mildness with their wisdom blend,
A source of virtuous peace, and bliss that knows no end.

And twice five summers smiled upon the Chief
Since holy wedlock joined the happy pair,
And still unconscious of domestic grief
His loved Amelia was his only care,
With her, — he could all worldly sorrows share:
But still one wish in either bosom rose,
An anxious wish 'twas mixed with hope and fear,
Each for an infant pledge impatient grows,
To crown their matchless love, and blend their plighted vows.

At length by heaven their suppliant prayers were heard,
Long had it marked them through a guiltless life,
And gave the wished-for boon — the due reward
Of patient virtue, undisturbed by strife,
Which shone conspicuous in Aristus' wife;
Whose sylph-like form's increasing zone display'd
An embryo cherub's seat, in beauty rife:
Which every disappointed hope repaid,
And amply recompensed for joys so long delayed.

Now with swift pace, the anxious time drew near
That bids the wife with dread anticipate
A mother's joys — a mother's hope and fear—
And trembling view her fast approaching state,
Which still hangs doubtful in the scale of fate—
Amelia — patient — on her couch reclined—
Religion's sacred truths now taught to wait
The awful hour — her pious soul resigned—
She prayed to God above in which Aristus joined.

And genial spring her gayest livery wore,
And nature smiled upon the scene around,
The feather'd songsters grateful senses bore,
Till woods and vallies echoed with the sound,
The happy days that good Aristus found:
A beauteous babe was ushered into light,
And, mother's joys his loved Amelia crown'd—
When a fair daughter blest her anxious sight,
And proved to either soul, a source of pure delight.

And soon revolving suns brought forth the day,
When the sweet infant to the fount was ta'en,
When crowds, of faithful vassals lined the way
And poured their blessings on the sponsor train—
The gift of hearts, that knew not how to feign—
Their sacred pastor led the peasant throng,
And as the organ hailed them with its strain,
In peals sublime, magnificent, and strong
It touched a tender chord — he joined the grateful song.

Hushed were the organs peals — a solemn pause,
And stillest silence o'er the scene prevailed—
Near to the altar's shrine the good man draws,
And thus his pious exhortation held,
Which checked each wish, each roving thought repelled;
"Approach, my faithful flock — my precepts hear—
"List to the truths a Saviour's voice revealed—
Accept the counsel of a friend sincere,
That counsel follow close and dangers never fear."

Thus spoke the man of God — seraphic fires
Transcendant beaming from his eye benign,
With hope, with faith, each grateful heart inspires—
Their thoughts to heaven the awe-struck crowd resign,
And knelt submissive at their Pastor's sign.
Now through the sacred porch Aristus led
His loved Amelia to the hallowed shrine,
Whilst mutual tears of gratitude they shed
That heaven at length, with joy, had blessed their nuptial bed.

Close at their side, an aged matron bore,
With slow and tottering step, her infant load;
The same respected nurse — who, years before,
When through her veins youthful current flowed,
Had borne Amelia to the house of God—
Whose first-born now, upon her bosom lay—
Whilst in her eye, extatic rapture glowed,
That heaven had thus prolonged her earthly stay
To share Amelia's joy throughout this blissful day.

As at the sacred font the pastor stood,
His pious hands the book of life display'd,
The book which tells us, that a Saviour's blood
For sinful man's redemption had been shed—
Which holds forth life, — e'en to the silent dead—
Who, to a faith in heavenly mercy, joined
Their firm repentance of the life they'd led:
Who loved and feared their God, in heart and mind,
And to his will divine their every wish resigned.

In solemn tone, the reverend priest began
The sacred office of baptismal rites,
That first of gifts, bestowed on mortal man
Which leads the way to heaven's pure delights—
And whilst he thus his anxious pray'r recites,
He mildly takes the cherub to his arms,
With soothing smiles, his guiltless charge invites
To hush the rising of her first alarms,
And with benignant eye, gazed on her infant charms.

Now from the consecrated vase his hand
The hallowed water sprinkled on her face;
And then, obedient to divine command,
On her fair forehead marked, in sign of grace,
A sacred cross — the Saviour of our race—
Meanwhile, her name the anxious pastor claim'd
From those who knelt within the holy space,
Her natal day St. Adelaide had famed,
And Adelaide, from thence, their beauteous babe was named.

Soon as these first baptismal rites had ceased,
Which hailed the inconscious babe a child of God;
With courteous smile the venerable priest
The infant Christian to its nurse bestowed:
Whose anxious soul with speechless rapture glow'd
To press once more, the cherub to her heart—
Whilst tears of grateful joy in torrents flowed,
Her feeble frame with quick convulsive start
Expressed the bliss supreme no words could e'er impart.

And now, that sacred ceremony o'er,
A pious benediction closed the scene—
When all, in silent awe, their God adore.
With fervent soul and countenance serene
Joined hand in hand, among the crowd were seen
The illustrious pair — and as the parents kneel,
The officious nurse their infant placed between
When! looks to heaven, those grateful thoughts reveal
No guilty tongue could speak, or sinful conscience feel.

The reverend Pastor's rising was the sign
When the loud organ's crashing notes were heard
In solemn peals the vocal strains to join—
When the pleased crowd, along the aisles appeared,
Through which they knew must pass their chief revered
In doubled lines, in hasty order formed,
And all the joy of blest Aristus shared—
And whilst his consort's winning softness charmed,
Love for their feudal Lord each vassal's bosom warmed.

Thus! in the midst of undissembled love
The happy pair their homeward footsteps bend—
Triumphant shouts the peasants' gladness prove,
Each sex, each age their tuneful voices blend,
And songs of mirth the echoing valleys rend—
Thus! to his mansion passed that honor'd Chief!
The proud oppressor's dread! — the orphan's friend!—
Unawed, from him, the poor could ask relief,
'Twas he that shared their joys, or soothed their bitter grief.

With grateful hearts the illustrious pair now gained
Their moated castle's widely opening gate,
Where hospitality and freedom reigned,
So rarely joined in mansions of the great—
The happy union here — here anxious wait,
The proudest nobles of the country round
In all the pomp and retinue of state—
By high and low his upright deeds were owned
And universal love his rigid virtues crown'd.

Where tow'ring oaks and shady elms extend
Their ample foliage o'er a verdant space,
And od'rous shrubs and balmy flow'rets lend
Their richest treasures to perfume the place;
Where art and nature vied the spot to grace,
Aristus' bounteous hand profusely spread
The rural feast — and here we pause to trace,
Those finer feelings, which the Chieftain led
To join the noblest Peers with those his bounty fed.

Beneath each lofty tree's refreshing shade,
Both rich and poor, in joyous groupes were seen:
For here, no feudal pomp in pride display'd
The lengthened board extended o'er the green,
Depriving of simplicity the scene—
Each, with his kindred, or his neighbours joined—
Thus! neither birth nor rank could intervene
To claim the envious precedence assigned,
To those whom bounteous heaven, has wealth or power consigned.

Now from the western hills a slanting gleam
Warned the glad crowds of fast receding day;
And prudent, now, reflecting parents deem,
Whilst round the grove their smiling offsprings play,
To hail their Lord — then homeward bead their way.
The youthful circles, breathless with delight—
Hear the unwelcome call — yet prompt obey—
Joys such as these! no envious hand could blight;
And joys like these now met Aristus' happy sight.

He with his lovely spouse, conspicuous stood,
The faithful vassals on their way, to greet,
Who passed exulting through the dark'ning wood,
With joy, with mirth, with gratitude replete:
While to each strain their hands responsive heat
In rustic, cadence, grateful to the ear
Of those, who know that feeling — ah! how sweet!
The self-approving, sympathizing tear,
To those whose virtuous deeds e'en poverty can cheer.

Soon as in peaceful mood the peasant train
With ling'ring steps had left their ample feast,
And homewards now, were bending o'er the plain;
With courteous smiles the accomplished Chief address'd,
In soft persuasion, each illustrious guest
To grace the banquet at the mansion spread,
For those who, kindly, at his summons pressed
To share his joy — by friendship's impulse led—
Friendship! — that oft remains — when all our hopes are fled.

Now, round the sumptuous board in festive mood,
Each Prince and Peer was placed, devoid of state—
Aristus' menials at a distance wait—
Anxious to serve — their grateful hearts elate
In all their master's joy participate.
With winning grace, at either end preside
The noble pair, — and, where Amelia sate,
Her lovely infant, smiling at her side,
Relieved her pleasing toil, and bloomed a parent's pride.

And swiftly now, the enraptured moments fled,
As pure unsullied mirth, or generous wine,
Guiltless of jest obscene, successive shed
Their genial influence on each soul benign,
And filled each noble heart with extacy divine—
Still o'er the feast the hand of reason swayed,
And bade each prudent guest the cup resign,
Ere wine to strife, should lend its baneful aid,
Or God's own image, man, a living corse be laid.

When from the lofty tow'r the solemn sound
Of midnight rung along the hollow wall,
The lovely hostess, courteously around
Expressed with winning smiles her thanks to all
That met that day, at friendship's sacred call—
Then took a graceful leave from every guest,
"Her health" re-echoed through the vaulted Hall—
And then, whilst fond affection warmed each breast
Their host they all embraced, and pleased retired to rest.


PART THE SECOND.
Year after year rolled on, and still the child
In stature, loveliness, and virtue grew—
A bounteous nature, o'er her fortunes smiled,
And brought the beauties of her mind to view—
And e'en o'er failings, such a sweetness threw
That none who saw but once, could e'er withold
The just applause to modest meekness due—
For whilst each wish was cast in honor's mould,
Religion's sacred law her every thought control'd.

I say not, that the ingenuous maid was given
That dazzling beauty which the crowd admire;
In her, indeed! a more indulgent Heaven
Softened the nobler features of her sire,
And hid in smiles his energetic fire—
Pure as her mind — her countenance serene,
E'en to the boldest eye, could awe inspire—
Such was the beauty of her seraph mien,
As at the Almighty's throne in angels would be seen.

With grateful joy the happy pair beheld
The rising progress of her infant mind,
Whose opening charms each passing day revealed
In childish prattling, careless, undesigned—
Yet mark'd with sense, and elegance refined—
To guide her youth by every care they, strove,
Each in the cause with equal ardour joined—
A pleasing task! — which none so sweetly prove
As parents anxious for the offspring of their love.

But ah! how soon events of dread import!
Their joys — their pleasures — and their cares o'ercast!
Their dreams of happiness, alas! how short!—
For e'er five years of fleeting bliss had passed,
(Bliss too supreme unshaken long to last!)—
Fled was the genius of domestic peace,
When o'er the land, Sedition's impious blast
Spread desolation's curse, with wide increase,
And filled fair Gallia's plains with woes that ne'er can cease.

For now — rebellious subjects dared to arm
Against the sov'reign of their native land!
From shore to shore, was heard the dire alarm;
When ah! too soon, a sacrilegious band
O'er hapless France, with desolating brand,
Drenched her fair lilied fields in noblest blood,
Nor sex escaped their sanguinary hand!—
Virtue with them, a crime, conspicuous stood,
And, cause of death it proved to be accounted good.

So swift indeed the sad contagion spread,
Lorraine's sweet vales, that bloomed in happy pride,
Soon saw the monster rear his baleful head—
Fell rapine soon advanced with hasty stride,
And brothers' bands in brothers' blood were dyed—
Infuriate rage each sacred feeling rent—
Freedom their call — a demon was their guide—
And, lawless ruffians by the faction sent
Soon rise a ruthless band, on murd'rous deeds intent.

And in such times as these, when shining worth,
Was held throughout as a detested name,
And death decreed to all of noble birth,
How could the splendor of Aristus' fame
In savage breasts one ray of pity claim?—
Nor was there mercy on his virtues shown!
By those who oft from him had felt the same—
For they, who all his charity had known,
With serpent sting returned ingratitude alone.

Soon, from his friends this melancholy tale
A trusty menial to Aristus bore;
That those whose hands had dared their king assail
And raised the standard of rebellious war,
Now bathed their trait'rous swords in royal gore—
And then — with kind solicitude demand
His prompt departure from that guilty shore,
To seek in happier realms, some friendly hand
To heal his woes — and named Britannia's land.

Too late, alas! the friendly warning came,
To shun the ills that hover'd o'er his head—
His vassal train had caught the impious flame,
And those who late his generous bounty fed,
By madd'ning phrensy to his mansion led,
With more than savage fury sought his life—
His life — who often in their cause had bled—
And — oh! the harrowing thought — his child — his wife—
They doomed alike to feel this sanguinary strife.

He still, unmoved, the unwelcome news received
Nor shunned the danger, nor defence pursued—
As yet, his unsuspecting soul conceived
Sufficient guard in conscious rectitude—
How vain those feelings of the wise and good
That judge of others' virtue by their own—
Grateful themselves — they think that gratitude
Can ne'er forget an act of bounty shown,
Or cease to bless the hand that generous deeds has done.

Delusion all! — for ere the morrow's sun
Had tinged with streaks of gold the eastern sky
This faithful servant to his chamber run,
Urged him with fervent zeal in haste to fly
And shun his fast approaching destiny—
This watchful guardian of his master's days
Had learned, alas! the fatal certainty,
That rebel bands proscribed his noble race,
And doomed the morn to see his tow'ring mansion blaze.

And, whilst this kind domestic quickly spoke,
The sound of distant voices met his ear,
And louder soon, the dire confusion broke
The fatal truth — the ruthless foe was near,
Which filled his virtuous soul with phrenzied tear—
Nor selfish was the fear, that spurned controul,
Nor from a coward's eye, escaped the tear
That down his manly cheek unbidden stole—
A wife — a daughter's fate — that! — rent his troubled soul.

No time was now for hesitation left,
His outer gates the rebel bands had gained,
Repulsed his trusty few — of aid bereft—
And now no bounds their savage hate restrained,
Nor safety now — but instant flight remained—
On this resolved — with sad and frantic air,
The room he sought which all he loved contained.
His angel child he found sweet sleeping there,
And clasped her to his heart in agonized despair.

But there — oh God! — Amelia was not seen—
Ten thousand terrors rushed upon his mind,
And words in vain could represent the scene,
As — speechless standing — to his fate resigned—
His child astonished on his arm reclined—
With eyes to Heaven — in inward grief he prayed.
When footsteps fast approaching from behind
Broke on his ear — he looked — with hope — with dread—
His loved Amelia's form — for all his fears repaid.

And she too well, the impending danger knew,
That threaten'd all she held on earth most dear,
And though she knew the foul rebellious crew
With fell intent that self-same hour were near,
Religion's voice her sinking spirits cheer—
But — when she saw the lovely Adelaide
Must fall — her strength gave way to fear—
And, wildly gazing on the affrighted maid—
"O! let us fly, my love!" in maddening anguish said.

And, as these words she spoke — a crashing sound
Of rattling arms — and shouts, and laughter wild
Proved that the rebel band an entrance found—
The hapless pair, still trembling for their child
By looks alone, their mutual woe beguiled—
When their first guardian, breathless from the strife,
(And through his fear a ray of comfort smiled)
Rushed in to save an honored master's life,
And guard from savage hands, his lovely child and wife.

When, with a trusty few that made defence,
Repulsed, he saw the ruffian cowards fly:
He quick returned, in noble confidence,
To place in safety at a cottage nigh,
By subterranean paths, the family—
Aristus first his guardian friend embraced,
Whilst tears of gratitude bedimmed his eye,
And then, encircling his Amelia's waist,
Followed his trembling guide, in agitated haste.

And now, their passage through the marbled hall
Nor rebel sword nor ruffian hand opposed,
And soon a secret opening in the wall,
An unknown flight of mould'ring steps exposed—
Which, passed in haste — a hidden door closed—
E'en to Aristus, was this path concealed,
His sire, the secret in his guide reposed—
Who first, with vows a solemn promise sealed,
Except in dreadful need — it ne'er should be revealed.

Scarce had the suff'ring pair and trusty guide,
Through the mysterious portal safely fled,
When the rebellious bands new efforts tried,
And ah! too well their vengeful fury sped—
By force o'erpower'd, each watchful guardian bled;
And unrestrained, the fierce relentless crew
O'er all the mansion, ruthless ruin spread—
But when Aristus' flight their leader knew,
Pale with insatiate rage, he miscreant grew.

But, when their swords in murd'rous deeds engaged,
Nor age, nor youth, nor sex could mercy claim—
One universal carnage blindly raged—
Whilst oft, their disappointed chiefs exclaim,
"Death to the whole of curst Aristus' name!"
And, when with vengeful cruelty content,
The ancient fabric felt the fatal flame—
And, by the light the conflagration lent,
The trait'rous horde rejoiced, in savage merriment.

Through dark and rugged paths the virtuous pair
Alternate, now, their lovely child conveyed—
Whilst oft the object of their tender care,
Safe in her father's anus, yet still afraid,
Would from his bosom lilt her little head
In trembling innocence — and as oft inquire,
Why — signs of fear, her mother's looks betrayed,
Why — with such hurried step pressed on her sire,
And why, the castle seemed, a blazing sheet of fire.

Lost in their gloomy thoughts, they journey'd on
Nor look nor answer to her questions gave—
Her present danger, now, they felt alone,
And pray'd in silence to their God to save
The guiltless infant from an early grave—
Before them marched, insensible to fear,
Beside their trusty guide, one vassal slave—
His lord to him, had been a friend sincere—
Whose gifts he now repaid, with all he could — a tear.

And, now, the lowly roof appeared in view,
The faithful Fred'ric's watchful zeal prepared—
And well the humble cot Amelia knew,
For oft, she there had foul contagion dared,
When its sick tenant without hope despaired—
And now, a self-applauding conscience smil'd,
To think the widow once her, bounty shared—
Such thoughts as these, the anxious time beguil'd,
And her sad dreary prospects, almost reconciled.

But envious fate still o'er their fortunes reigned,
No doubt for purposes alwise, unknown—
Just as their guide, with cautious step had gain'd
A secret pathway, rough with mould'ring stone,
And thus, from long disuse, with shrubs o'ergrown;
So far removed from every public way,
And now for deeds of darkness used alone—
He sudden stopped — in terror and dismay—
Full in the path a band, of ambushed ruffians lay.

Speechless in dread — the awe-struck Fred'ric stood;
Nor dared retire, nor onward dared to move—
But, crouching low, unseen the miscreants view'd—
And anxious, pointed to a friendly grove,
That grew luxuriant on the hill above;
Where his afflicted lord might safely rest,
And still protect the objects of his love—
His lord but wildly gazed, with fear oppress'd,
And clasped his lovely child still closer to his breast.

Nor had the Chief, in motionless surprize,
As yet recovered from his panic fear,
When from the rebels' watch, — a voice,
Alarm'd gave warning of a footstep near,
And instantly the ambushed bands appear—
Firm and resolved, Aristus' trusty guide,
His master's safety now his only care,
With noble zeal their secret watch-word cried,
And joined the murd'rous crew, in fierce rebellious pride.

And soon, close converse with their leader held—
For well their plans and dark designs he knew—
Told how their comrades, though at first repelled,
Again attacked the castle's servile crew,
And, by his aid, their hated pow'r o'erthrew—
Whilst thus he lulled the rebels to repose,
In hopes Aristus might escape their view,
And outward smiles his well-feigned treach'ry shows,
With inward grief he mourned, his lord's o'erwhelming woes.

So well Aristus on his faith relied,
No dark suspicion entered on his mind—
So long had Fred'ric's sterling worth been tried
That now his suff'ring lord, to fate resigned,
On him alone his helpless cause consigned—
And then with cautious steps, the path explored
Towards the thick grove — in trembling hope to find,
A safe asylum from the trait'rous horde
And yet preserve the lives of those his soul adored.

But ah! he found his anxious hopes were vain,
Alas! high Heaven's inscrutable decree
Doomed him the cup of bitterness to drain,
And drink deep draughts of endless misery—
For soon the scouts returned in drunken glee,
And each, a tale of mingled wonders wove—
One said he saw, or fancied he could see,
Men creeping slowly on the hill above,
Who still concealed must lay, within the shadowy grove.

And scarce the suff'ring guide could now subdue,
The strong emotions that his soul oppressed,
When the stern leader roused his prostrate crew,
Strait for the grove in furious ardor pressed,
And thus his sanguinary band addressed—
"If in the grove, you castle's lord should lie,
Ere this sharp dagger finds his hated breast
And gluts in blood of foes to liberty,
Before the tyrant falls — his child, his wife, must die."

And as in haste the ambushed rebels rose
The eastern sky proclaimed approaching day,
When the fierce band with prudent care propose
That some should still within the covert stay
Nor all their numbers to the foe display—
And now, Aristus! would the vengeful fiend,
Have filled thee with unspeakable dismay,
Had not kind heaven, in mercy, intervened,
And from their searching eye, thy close concealment screened.

For e'er an hour in fruitless search was lost,
In which good Fred'ric, trembling, kept behind;
A martial band attacked their ambushed post—
Alarmed — in haste, the scattered rebels join'd,
And all pursuit in sullen rage resigned—
Soon as the royal banners came in view,
And Frederic saw them for the fight inclined,
He from the rebel line, unseen, withdrew,
And to his lord's retreat, with eagle swiftness flew.

Nor could he hope, his unexpected flight,
Would long escape the leader's watchful eye—
And when, through opening shrubs, he met his sight,
The wretch exclaimed, "Die, trait'rous coward, die!"—
Swift at his word, three hissing bullets fly—
Two passed him harmless — but the third, too well
Some demon winged, with vengeful certainty—
Writhing in pain — he sprung across the dell,
And soon at Aristus' feet, his bleeding guardian fell.

But, as he fell, — Oh God! — nor tongue could speak,
Or thought conceive, the harrowing sight he view'd:
For there — Aristus with convulsive shriek,
Bending in wild despair, inconscious stood,
O'er pale Amelia welt'ring in her blood!—
Close by her side, their lovely infant lay
Smiling in sleep of calm beatitude—
Aristus strove to kneel — he strove to pray—
O'erpower'd with bitter woes, he sunk — he swooned away.

Roused at the sight, regardless of his pain,
Good Fred'ric rose to aid the hapless pair—
Too soon! the gushing wound revealed — in vain
Could human hands assist the sinking fair—
Who, now in death, with mild, angelic air,
Resigned, and patient, — raised her drooping head,
Nor more her fast receding strength could bear—
"O God! receive my soul," — she faintly said—
"Preserve my honor'd lord — and shield my Adelaide."

Scarce could her fault'ring tongue these words express,
Ere death's cold hand her mortal suff'rings close,
And wing'd her soul to realms of happiness.
Alike inconscious of increasing woes,
Close by her side, her lord and child repose—
Till, by the aid of Fred'ric's kindly care,
Recalled to life and woe; Aristus rose—
When gazing round, with wild and vacant stare—
He viewed his sleeping babe, in motionless despair.

But when he saw, the faithful Fred'ric fall
In pallid weakness from his bleeding wound,
And heard his feeble voice for succour call,
His strength revived — he started at the sound—
And on his shattered arm a 'kerchief bound—
That done, with cares, and bitter woes oppress'd,
Once more o'erpower'd, he sunk upon the ground—
His aching head on Fred'ric's bosom placed,
And then, midst sighs and tears, this piteous tale confest.

"When you, with fearless soul, the rebels join'd,
The dark grove's rugged path, we silent kept—
There — whilst Amelia in these arms reclined,
And our loved child, in peaceful slumbers slept,
Our mutual tears her early sorrows wept—
When, rattling arms proclaim'd some foe was near,
And as still closer to my heart she crept,
The rebel voices broke upon my ear:
Then silence all — and then — more distant they appear.

"Now, as we fondly dreamt our danger past,
And hoped the rebels from the grove had fled;
Once more, I heard their bugle's echoing blast,
And at the sound — a thund'ring volley sped—
Pale and inconscious, (as I thought, with dread)
Amelia fainting on my bosom fell!—
And whilst my arm sustain'd her, drooping head,
In trembling fear I look'd — Oh God! — too well
The fatal truth, alas! these crimsoned torrents tell."

Thus far, Aristus, in his hapless tale,
'Midst bursting sighs, and scalding tears, had gain'd,
When martial music, sounding through the vale,
Once more alarmed — once more his tongue restrain'd:
And in amazement wild the list'ning pair remain'd—
Nor long, this dread suspence Aristus bore,
For soon a troop his hiding place attain'd—
He snatched his darling babe — nor could he more,
Ere friendly ranks be view'd, who royal emblems wore.

Now through his woe, a ray of comfort smiled—
For here, assisted by this powerful band,
The faithful Fred'ric and his lovely child,
The rebel foe might fearlessly withstand,
Whilst he sought refuge in Britannia's land—
When, their young captain with benignant soul,
Advancing, seized Aristus' proffer'd hand—
And down his cheek a tear of pity stole,
Which soon to floods increased — regardless of controul.

Whilst the young Chief, a tale of sorrows hard,
And mourned in silent grief Aristus' woes;
Two horsemen, breathless, in the grove appear'd—
Alarmed — the youth in agitation rose—
Their mission soon, a few short words disclose—
Which done — they swiftly darted through the wood:
And pensive now — and melancholy grows
The youth — his alter'd looks, Aristus viewed,
When all his cherished hopes, prophetic fear subdued.

Soon the young Chief — in secrecy confest
The important tidings which the horsemen brought,
That, as the rebel force in strength increased
Each day — each day victorious fought—
A safe retreat the royal legions sought;
And that his baud must march without delay—
This as he said — Aristus' hand he caught,
And, "hapless man!" he cried, "whilst I obey,
O fly with me, your friend, nor here defenceless stay."

As the kind youth he gratefully embraced,
On his Amelia's pallid form his eye
Attentive fixed — a ling'ring doubt expressed—
Nor long, the band his silent pray'rs deny
Who quick observed his inward misery—
And soon a rude unfashioned grave appears
Formed by the sacred hand of sympathy;
In which, the object of Aristus' cares
Was laid, in silent awe, and undissembled tears.

As o'er Amelia's corse, the last sad prayer
With trembling voice, the youthful soldier read,
Aristus stood — the emblem of despair—
Nor sigh escaped — nor tear of grief he shed.
Clasped in his arms, the gentle Adelaide
Shrieked when she saw the busy strangers place
The green turf o'er her mother's clay-cold head,
And pressing closer to her sire's embrace,
In his paternal bosom, hid her beauteous face.

Soon as this hurried sepulture had ceased,
And o'er the rustic tomb some friendly hand
A shapeless stone in piety had placed,
O'erwhelm'd with woe, the sympathizing band
In order formed — obedient to command—
But, when the widowed mourner strove to move,
Again, he felt his tortur'd soul unmanned,
And scarce could friendship urge him from the grove
That now, in death contained the partner of his love.

But when reflection o'er his grief prevail'd,
With fault'ring step be hurried through the wood,—
As still embraced, his lovely child he held
And as her cherub innocence he view'd,
Her mother's smile, his agony renew'd—
Close by his side, the faithful Fred'ric pressed,
Whose manly cheek full many a tear bedewed,
And whilst his woes hung heavy on his breast,
Aristus thus, his last remaining friend addressed.

"My life's preserver I — Oh! most faithful friend;
On thee alone, my sinking hopes rely,
On thee, once more, my destinies depend—
Now, when from suff'ring France I'm doom'd to fly,
Impelled by fate, and stern necessity—
Protect this orphan babe! — my Adelaide!—
These costly jewels will your wants supply,
Till heaven permits, by Fred'ric's kindly aid
The convent's walls receive, the dear ill-fated maid."

And scarce was ended this affecting strain,
When scatter'd bands in hasty flight they met,
Stretched o'er the ample plains of fair Lorraine—
Soon as these bands Aristus' escort greet,
They join'd their friends' precipitate retreat—
And now, the hapless mourner's tortur'd mind
Fresh wounds received — in anguish too replete—
When he — (his last resource) — to fate resigned—
In Fred'ric's guardian arms, his Adelaide consigned.

'Twas near the foaming Rhine's impetuous flood
That Fred'ric's arms this precious charge received,
Who now in haste the royal host pursued.
Whilst, wand'ring on, the childless sufferer grieved,
An aged peasant his distress perceived—
Whose airy skiff now gliding to the sand,
Raised his fond hopes — his anxious fears relieved,
And Safety pointing to Germania's strand,
With one long ling'ring look — he left his native land!


PART THE THIRD.
And here, we pause — whilst in the humble tale
Imagination's magic wand has laid
O'er a long space, Oblivion's darkest veil—
Whilst twelve sharp winters on Aristus' head
With lavish hand a silv'ry radiance shed—
Whilst the poor wand'rer, on a foreign shore,
For twelve sad years a life of exile led—
And suff'ring France alternate factions tore,
In which her hapless sons, un numbered sorrows bore.

Nor pass the lovely child unheeded by,
In whose fair form, twelve summers' suns, ere this,
To womanhood had ripen'd infancy—
Though twelve long years — inconscious
Of mother's kindness or paternal kiss;
Her youthful days in peaceful currents flow'd,
Nor had she truly known unhappiness
Since, by her sire to Fred'ric's care bestow'd,
Safe in his arms she gain'd, the convent's blest abode.

Nor long, by Fred'ric's aid, the orphan maid
To holy hands in sacred charge was given,
And the good Abbess of St. Adelaide
As yet scarce hailed her as the child of heaven,
Ere her last friend; to madness almost driven,
Beneath his load of sorrows, sunk oppressed—
As the tough oak, by constant storms is riven;
So wounds — and age — and anguish rent his breast,
Till Heaven relieved his pain — by death's eternal rest.

The lovely orphan, with her lot content,
Beloved by all within the blest retreat,
Her days secluded, in the convent spent,
In a lay sister's pure noviciate—
And well could fancy, then, delineate
The thing features of her infant mind,
And all Amelia's charms anticipate—
Virtue and sense in Adelaide were join'd,
Which all her father's fire, and mother's grace combined.

Though now — fair Lusitania's vales received,
And echoed back, the exiled mourner's sigh;
His first deep woes, Britannia's sons relieved—
For there alone, beneath its genial sky,
Burns the pure flame of sacred liberty—
Not such as then o'er hapless France prevailed,
In crimes, in death, and dreadful anarchy—
Where demons' hands her lovely image veil'd,
And all her mildest laws in guiltless blood were sealed.

And, in Britannia's realms Aristus met
That friend, who gave with hand beneficent
In Lusitania's vales a safe retreat,
Where, free from strife, and tort'ring cares were spent,
His last long years of cruel banishment—
Save when his thoughts toward suff'ring France were turned,
Whose endless ills his patriot bosom rent—
Save when his soul, with fond affection burned,
Or when, with silent grief, for his Amelia mourned.

For mingled were those feelings that pourtray'd
The pleasing image of his darling child—
When, in delusion sweet, his Adelaide
With looks of love, a father's woe beguiled—
When fancy drew her, as she softly smiled
In conscious innocence — but when, too soon!
The grateful sight, so fondly reconciled,
He found in visionary dreams had flown,
He'd wildly look — and sigh — and, find himself alone.

Nor long her absence could Aristus bear—
So strong the tide of fond affection flowed,
Toward the loved object which he held most dear—
And oft, his soul in rapturous fancy glowed
To view her mistress of his neat abode—
In bright perspective marked the happy day,
When to his arms, by pitying heaven bestowed,
The lovely girl should all his cares repay,
And in her pleasing converse pass his hours away.

With this intent — Lorraine's fair fields he sought
Disguised beneath a Lusitanian name,
And passports too, (from venal courtiers bought,)
Secured his safety wheresoe'er he came,
And gave that sacred right — a stranger's claim—
And Heaven benignant on his journey smiled,
For oft be found affection's genial flame,
His fainting soul supported, as he toiled
To reach the peaceful roof, that held his darling child.

And soon that venerable pile arose,
Majestic, tow'ring o'er a shady wood,
Which brought Aristus' journey to its close—
And grateful, now, in speechless rapture stood
The happy parent, as the spot he viewed,
That held his all! — these cheering though excite
His utmost speed — and now his way pursued—
Till at the convent's grate, his anxious sight
Beheld his lovely maid, in agonized delight.

Nor, could the cautious Abbess long withold
An exiled father from a daughter's arms,
For soon the truth, resistless nature told,
And quelled the prudent matron's first alarms.
And now — his transports o'er — those charms,
Surpriz'd, he view'd, a convent's fost'ring care.
Had kindly shelter'd from misfortune's storms—
And marked those full blown beauties that declare,
Her infant smiles had changed to woman's lovelier air.

And now, indeed — too much it were to tell,
How the good Abbess parted from the maid,
How, on her neck each weeping sister fell;
With saint-like fervor for her safety pray'd,
And mourned the loss of virtuous Adelaide—
Nor may I tell the misery she knew,
The day that drew her from the convent's shade,
The day that took her from the kindred few,
To whom her life — her love — her gratitude were due.

Whilst now they sought their Lusitanian vales,
And through the southern shores of Gallia passed,
In either breast a ling'ring wish prevails,
And many a look both sire and daughter cast—
And hoped, yet fear'd, that look would be the last
That e'er might view, their own dear native land.
And now — the Gallic frontier passed in haste,
Aristus' anxious fears in smiles expand,
To find himself secure, on Catalonia's strand.

But here, once more, an envious fortune frown'd,
Once more o'ercast his dreams of happiness—
For here, by long fatigue oppressed, he found
That pallid hue o'erspread her lovely face,
Which soon alarmed a father's tenderness—
And scarcely Barcelona's walls were gain'd,
Ere the sweet maid, in sinking weariness,
Of pain, of languor, and of heat complained,
Which soon with rapid strides, a fever's height attained.

And here — whilst many a sleepless night went by,
Aristus watched with all a father's care
Her imperceptible recovery—
Meanwhile, Napoleon's legions fast appear,
That plunged Iberia in disast'rous war—
And now, within the walls, a Gallic host
In open friendship, unsuspected share
The various duties of the important post,
To guard from British foes, that threatened all the coast.

And soon this treach'rous host, in midnight hour,
Seized the Iberian guard — their force display'd,
And brought the city to their hated pow'r—
And now — Aristus but by heavenly aid,
Could hope to save his darling Adelaide,
When the dread news his luckless fate declared;
Nor knew he how to shield the lovely maid,
If heaven her life, in gracious mercy spared,
So strict the cruel laws, a tyrant's band prepared.

Month passed on month, and still the hapless pair
Remained unknown in blest obscurity,
And Adelaide resumed her wonted air
Of health, of peace, and pure simplicity—
Meanwhile her sire with penetrating eye
Watched for some means, their wretchedness to end,
And quit those scenes of piercing misery—
Once more, a generous boatman proved his friend,
And held forth hopes of flight, on which he might depend.

At length arrived the long-expected day,
When, all prepared — the anxious captives wait
Approaching night — impatient of delay—
Soon as the evening closed — with hearts elate
They passed unnoticed, through the Eastern gate—
Their signal soon the friendly boatman heard,
Whose hark lay waiting for its lovely freight—
A British frigate on the port appear'd
Towards which, in breathless haste, the hapless wand'rers steer'd.

Nor long before Britannia's sons descried,
The little bark advancing from the shore,
Which quickly gained the gallant vessel's side—
Nor need the wand'rers, here, for aid implore—
Or long complaints to British seamen pour—
Distress and woe their services command—
He sees distress — a seaman wants no more—
Unsought — the captain of the naval band,
In undissembled faith — held forth his friendly hand.

From him, both sire and daughter fully proved,
The kind attentions of a soul refin'd—
A gallant youth — by all his crew belov'd—
Polish'd as brave — Fitzhenry nobly join'd
A hero's courage with a cultur'd mind—
Though young in years, experienced in his art,
In him the friend and captain were combin'd,
And though he well could act the seaman's part,
Religion's purest flame, shone mildly on his heart.

Here, three long months, contented guests they staid,
And shared Fitzhenry's hospitality—
Whilst he, brave youth, anticipates with dread,
The painful day, that now, alas! drew nigh,
When he must quit their dear society—
For now he first, inconscious of its rise,
Felt the sweet pangs of tender sympathy,
And oft, on Adelaide were fixed his eyes,
And oft, his soul put forth involuntary sighs.

Nor he alone — for Adelaide as well
Now found her sympathetic bosom beat
In kindred feelings indescribable—
When her inconscious gaze Fitzhenry's met,
Oft would she blush, and oft her fault repeat—
And his unbidden eye would wildly rove,
In secret hopes fair Adelaide's to greet—
These mutual signs, in either bosom prove
The rising progress of a pure unsullied love.

And do not nature's simplest laws attract
Congenial souls within its sacred sphere?
And do not soft ingenuous minds contract
A mutual passion, generous as sincere?—
Nor wonder, then, Fitzhenry's name was dear
To good Aristus, and to — Adelaide—
From him, oft fell the pleasing grateful tear,
Whilst delicately chaste, the lovely maid,
In sighs and looks alone, her gratitude display'd.

And now, towards Lusitainia's shores they steer'd,
To bear the wand'rers to their rustic shed—
And now, Fitzhenry's evil star appear'd,
And now, his virtuous heart profusely bled—
His inward peace, alas! — for ever fled—
Some hidden foe — (for Virtue has her foes,)
Worked secret vengeance on Fitzhenry's head;
Malignant fate's o'er-gathering storm arose,
And wrapt his future days — in undeserved woes.

For, whilst the friends in boundless confidence,
Their mutual feelings of esteem enjoy'd,
A sland'rous tongue's mysterious influence
Its baleful power successfully employ'd,
And all their comfort, all their peace destroy'd—
Some vengeful demon in the father's mind,
By dark suspicions, roused paternal pride—
He learned — Fitzhenry, by no ties restrained,
In friendship's sacred guise, the basest deeds design'd.

Oh God! and could Fitzhenry, guilty grown,
Deserve a vile seducer's branded name?—
Could he, who scarcely to himself dare own
The inconscious risings of his secret flame,
In distant thought conceive one act of shame?
Oh no — the youth, in innocence arrayed,
Nor fierce vindictive foe could justly blame,
Nor guilty conscience could his soul upbraid,
Nor crime, in thought or deed, could to his charge be laid.

And could Aristus' generous soul believe
Fitzhenry guilty of so base a deed?
Could his kind heart the monst'rous thought conceive?
Alas! too well! — the will of heav'n decreed
For sacred truth his indignation hid—
Blinded by rage, his ardent fury rose,
Nor let his cooler judgment take the lead—
And now so strong the rash suspicion grows,
It racks his tortur'd soul, and breaks his sweet repose.

The parting friends the golden Tagus gain'd,
In all the joys of blissful harmony,
Ere the designing wretch so basely feigned,
In vengeful mood, his tale of villainy—
Who there, in deep mysterious secrecy,
The impious falsehood to Aristus bore—
Nor could he doubt Fitzhenry's infamy,
So solemnly the baneful miscreant swore,
And such apparent truth, his well-feigned candour wore.

And now arrived the day Fitzhenry fear'd,
When he, alas! must part from Adelaide—
With tears but half suppressed, the youth appear'd,
And hailed Aristus and his lovely maid—
His friendly smile the sire with frowns repaid—
And soon Fitzhenry marked his alter'd look,
Which all the rancour of a foe display'd—
O'erwhelmed his frame in agitation shook,
For, ah! that cold repulse, he knew not how to brook.

And now assembled at their last repast
The mournful groupe — in silent mystery—
And when, on Adelaide Fitzhenry cast,
Enquiring looks, her father's piercing eye,
Restrained her speech — she answer'd but a sigh!—
And landed now on Lusitania's shore,
A hasty note of cold formality,
With pangs of grief Fitzhenry's bosom tore,
That thus! such friends should part, perhaps to meet no more.

Nor did they meet — for ere that sun had set,
Fitzhenry, bounding o'er the Atlantic main,
In sad amazement mused upon his fate—
Nor could his thoughts the mystery explain;
Nor calm reflection mitigate his pain—
Silent and sad! the sorrowing youth alone
To solve the strange enigma, tried in vain—
And oft his roving eye, was wildly thrown
Where, Adelaide late sat — but, ah! its charms were gone!

The wand'rers now, with varied feelings, pressed
With hasty strides towards their loved retreat—
And whilst resentment in Aristus' breast
Still fiercely burned — in Adelaide's, more sweet,
Fitzhenry's form maintained its wonted seat.
For she, dear innocent! no reason knew,
Why, the last time the parting youth they met,
So coldly grave her sire's reception grew,
Or why, he failed to give, a long — a last adieu,

—Once more — Imagination's aid I crave
To pass five fleeting years in rapid thought—
Whilst far away, on transatlantic wave,
Fitzhenry's soul — the paths of glory sought,
And oft the gallant youth, his country's battle fought.
But let not fancy's steps too wildly rove,
Or think that time inconstancy had taught
Ah no! Fitzhenry's anxious feelings prove
He still preserved his pure, his undiminished love.

And also, whilst the hapless pair once,
Felt the rude hand of want and wretchedness—
When, on the peaceful Lusitanian shore
Napoleon bade his ruthless legions press,
And filled her plains with woe and barrenness,
Once more Aristus sought Britannia's clime;
Where Adelaide, in all her loveliness,
As yet inconscious of Fitzhenry's crime,
Still felt her virtuous flame — increasing with the time.

—Now, that these five long years by fancy's aid
With magic swiftness in our tale have passed—
We find Aristus and his Adelaide,
Once more in sweet Lorraine securely placed,
And all remembrance of their woes effaced—
For now! Napoleon, from his empire hurl'd,
No more the: hued throne of France disgraced,
No more the standard of his crimes unfurl'd,
Or spread, with tyrant hand his conquests o'er the world.

And when Aristus, to his pow'r restored,
His wealth, his vassals, and his lands regain'd,
In deep research, his pious heart explored,
The fatal grove, alas! — that still remain'd,
And still the ashes of his love contain'd—
And when the well-remember'd spot was found,
Whose clay-cold turf her mould'ring form sustain'd,
With sacred rites he bore her from the mound,
And laid her last remains, in consecrated ground.

And here, would Adelaide now wildly rove,
And wander o'er the scenes of infancy—
Here, would the spirit of desponding love,
In painful thoughts, and vain remembrance try,
To raise the envious veil of mystery—
For still with watchful care her sire witheld
The fabricated tare of villainy—
Yet, if his name she spoke, by love impell'd,
A stern forbidding frown, the rising wish repell'd.

Now, that, in all her charms, the hand of peace
Dispensed her blessings on Britannia's isle,
Now, that grim war's vindictive thunders coast,
Fitzhenry, landing on his native soil,
First claimed a respite from his lengthen'd toil—
Still on his mind, Aristus' parting pressed,
Nor could the hand of time those thoughts beguile:
Though oft, the father's scorn his soul oppressed,
Love for his beauteous maid, still warmed his virtuous breast.

Nor longer in suspense the ingenuous youth
In dread uncertainty could calmly wait—
His soul, the mansion of eternal truth,
Ill brook'd the scorn of undeserved hate,
When conscious virtue claim'd a happier fate—
And soon, his letters to the sire betray'd,
In friendly terms, his agitated state—
Aristus' candor in return convey'd
The tale of base designs, his vengeful foe display'd.

All gracious heaven! — description here must yield,
Nor can my pen, Fitzhenry's looks pourtray,
When the dread truth, the lettered page reveal'd—
Alternate passions o'er his features play,
Love, rage, and hope, resentment, and dismay—
Oh God! the thought! his virtuous pride disgraced!—
Scarce could his trembling hand, the task obey,
Whilst to his long-lost friend, in breathless haste,
The agitated youth, his ready answer traced.

But yet, some days in sad anxiety
The guiltless youth must linger in his shame,
Ere could arrive Aristus' hoped reply—
At length, a pacquet to Fitzhenry came
Whose writing bore Aristus' well-known name—
Soon as, in hope and fear, the seal was rent,
The pleasing news his bright'ning looks proclaim!
Oh joy! — Aristus, with his Word content—
In kindest terms declared, Fitzhenry innocent.

Nor this was all — the generous man implored
Fitzhenry's pardon for a father's pride—
And now, since friendship's sacred bonds restored
The mutual confidence they once enjoy'd,
He hoped his prayers might not be denied—
That, as fair Peace o'er suff'ring Europe sway'd,
And now, no more his country's cause employ'd
The gallant youth — a promise often made—
Some months of joy he'd pass, with him and Adelaide.

Nor long, could young Fitzhenry hesitate
To seek the lovely maid of sweet Lorraine—
In heavenly raptures at his alter'd fate,
No cold delays his instant flight detain—
For what can love's resistless force restrain?—
Now when, his arms 'round good Aristus thrown,
The youth declared the secret of his pain,
And smiles of peace, in approbation shone—
We hail Fitzhenry blest, for — Adelaide's his own!

[pp. 11-74]