le controul
The strong delights of Cenulph's soul,
When Cen'lin knelt, and by his side
Half-kneeling, bent his lovely bride.
But, when he first essay'd to speak,
A hasty blush pass'd o'er his cheek,
He hung awhile his graceful head,
Till thus, with air confus'd he said:
"I come, by love with honours crown'd,
Yet sorrow casts a shade around,
That when my consort here I bring,
The heiress of a potent king,
The Mercians, clad in armour, come,
To lead their princess to her home.
No joyful hail our nuptial greets,
No proof of love my Ela meets,
But scarlet banners, waving high,
The bridal knot and wreath supply.
Alas! I see mistrust has won
E'en Cenulph's fondness from his son;
Or could my ever-honour'd sire,
A proof of Cen'lin's faith require?
Can force so needful now appear,
To aid a pow'r which I revere?
When eager beauty's form to view,
I first to Selred's court withdrew,
A single wish thy pow'r maintain'd,
A single wish thy son regain'd.
I left the maid whose matchless charms,
Each rooted prejudice disarms,
Who rul'd my heart with sovereign sway,
And taught a Mercian to obey
Laws that East-Saxons can impart,
When wit and beauty string the dart;
Left her when hope my doubts beguil'd,
And on our love her father smil'd.
Oft have I tried to win thine ear,
The fond, romantic tale to hear,
But when I found a lonely hour,
My coward soul has lost the pow'r;
As on my lips the accents hung,
Thy hate to Selred check'd my tongue.
Yet flattering hopes my passion fed,
And from thy court again I fled;
I thought when you my fair beheld,
And knew how greatly she excell'd,
In every charm, each art refin'd,
And virtue of the female mind,
Thy judgment would approve my choice,
And bless it with a cheerful voice.
And ah! though fortune did combine
With love, in making Ela mine,
I cannot from a grief refrain,
Remembering that I gave thee pain.
Yet if thy Cen'lin e'er could please,
If e'er my cares could give thee ease,
Let mild affection now arise,
And beam forgiveness from thine eyes!
No more thy son shall make thee know
A pain, or give thee cause of woe.
No nights the Mercians have to fear,
For all I love is center'd here,"
He spoke, and o'er his father's soul,
A stream of healing comfort stole;
He rose, with slow, majestic grace,
Tears of delight adorn'd his face,
His pious heart with rapture glow'd,
And joy a second youth bestow'd.

"To meet thee thus, my son," he cried,
"This peerless maiden for your brid