To bear submissively his lot.

Hidden was each enlivening grace;
Deprest by his untimely doom;
A hectic flush o'erspread his face,
Instead of nature's florid bloom.

Untutor'd in the school of grief,
His pining spirit spoke in sighs;
Though almost hopeless of relief,
He look'd around with eager eyes;

And fondly bent an anxious ear,
To the slow murmuring of the breeze,
Essaying oft, in vain, to hear
A friendly step beneath the trees.

"Delusive wish!" at last he cried,
"Why wilt thou fill my aching breast?
And thus my miseries deride,
By telling how I might be blest.

"No kind consolers hither bend,
By sympathy to ease my care;
Here comes no ever-faithful friend,
Who yet might shield me from despair.

"The abbey's well-known tow'r I seek,
It fades from my impassion'd eye;
The fancied outlines softly break,
And melt into the distant sky.

"No pitying object now remains,
That I may know those scenes are near,
Where generous love and friendship reigns,
And Alwin's name may claim a tear.

"And you, my lov'd paternal groves,
Where I no more must shew my head;
In your fair walks a stranger roves,
And treacherous Normans daily tread!

"E'en now their presence may prophane
The halls where Herbert did reside!
E'en now may joy and gladness reign,
And Adelaide be Percy's bride.

"Yet no! her soul, the seat of truth,
Would ne'er a second love receive!
The sacred vows of artless youth,
Her Alwin ever shall believe!

"They still shall comfort my sad heart,
And sooth the anguish of my mind;
Shall still a cheering hope impart,
And make me somewhat more resign'd.

"Ah! yet I hear her trembling hand,
Withdraw the bolt to set me free!
Yet hear the hasty, kind command,
My Alwin fly, and live for me!

"No other can obtain my love!
I would for thee the world resign!
Then let thy prompt obedience prove
That thou art truly, wholly mine."

"And ever to her promise true,
No pleasure shall her soul elate,
For, yet her constant thoughts pursue
A wretched Outlaw's hapless fate!

"In vain proud Ranulph[11] shall upbraid,
My Adelaide is still the same!
And, for thy sake, dear, lovely maid,
I will not curse the Norman name!

"Not, though my father's large domains,
Are plunder'd by the murderous bands;
And my Northumbria's fertile plains,
Lie wasted by their cruel hands;

"Though, as a son, I mourn the fate
Of those, to whom my life I owe;