Part III.

Merry once again is England, Civil warfare is forgot; Now another Charles is reigning Plenty smiles in hall and cot. Spring is like a present angel; Loosened waters leap in light: Flowers are springing, birds are singing, All the world is glad and bright. May, the blue-eyed bloomy creature, From God's presence yearly sent, Works with sweet ethereal fingers, Till both heaven and earth are blent. Lovliest is a rural village In the May-time of the year; With its hall, its woods and waters, Verdant slopes, and herds of deer. And in one, joy is exultant— For this day the manly heir Of Sir Francis Leke is wedded— Wedded too, his daughter fair. Age rejoices; in the Mansion Rural hinds find wassail cheer; And bright troops of Knights and Ladies, Crowd the Hall from far and near. Who is this in weeds unseemly, Half a man that seems, half beast, Who obtrudes himself unbidden On the merry marriage feast? Hermit is he, or some Pilgrim, Entering boldly his own cell? No,—he lacks those ancient symbols, Sandal-shoon, and scallop shell. All the youngsters titter; anger Flushes cheeks austere and cold: Whilst the aged look complacent On a beggar that is bold. "Bear this Ring unto your Mistress," To a Page Sir Francis cried; And his words emphatic uttered Rung throughout the dwelling wide. One there is—an age-blind servant— Who in darkness sits apart— Carried forth to feel the sunshine— She has heard him in her heart; And in agony of gladness, At that voice so long desired, She has loudly named her Master— And then instantly expired. Pensive in her room, the Matron Grieved—but distant from the crowd; She would not with selfish sorrow Their bright countenances cloud. There her Ring receiving; Lucy Knew the sender of her gift, And, it seemed, by feet unaided, To him she descended swift. There upon the rugged stranger, Gazed, with momentary check, Gazed, but for a passing moment, And then fell upon his neck. Twice ten weary summers absent; By his faithful wife deplored; Like Ulysses to his Consort, Good Sir Francis is restored. 'Tis a time of double gladness— Never was a scene like this; Joy o'erflows the Hall, the Village— 'Tis a time of boundless bliss! Clothed as instantly became him, Of Vile Skins all disarrayed, In his old Paternal Mansion He is honoured and obeyed. All he prayed for to the Virgin, She has granted him and more; Not to die, his own beholding, First, when on his native shore. Added years of happy ending, Are accorded him of right; 'Midst a cloud of friends descending, In a sunset warm and bright.