Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew
Misfortune's troubles; and foreboding fears,
That rose like distant shadows nearer drew
O'ercasting the calm evening of his years;
Yet still amidst the gloom fair hope appears,
A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space,
Till the horizon closes round of clears,
Returns our tale the enchanted path to trace
Where youth's fond visions rise with fair but fleeting grace.
Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers
O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood,
A lake blue gleaming from deep forest bowers,
Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude:
Oft by the margin of that quiet flood,
And through the groves and hoary ruins round,
Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood;
Or here, amid tradition's haunted ground,
Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned.
* * * * *
Here Arthur loved to roam--a dreaming boy--
Erewhile romantic reveries to frame,
Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy.
Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame;
But with fair manhood's dawn a softer flame
'Gan mingle with his martial musings high;
And trembling wishes--which he feared to name,
Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh--
Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie.
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