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Babes that had learnt to lisp her name,
And heroes he had led to fame.

But what felt D'Arcy, when at length
Her father's gate was open fung?
Ah ! then he found a giant's strength;
For round him, as for life, she clung!
And when, her fit of weeping o'er,
Onward they moved a little space,

And saw an old man sitting at the door,-
Saw his wan check, and sunken eye
That seemed to gaze on vacancy,-
Then, at the sight of that beloved face,
At once to fall upon his neck she flew;
But — not encouraged — back she drew,
And trembling stood in dread suspense,
Her tears her only eloquence !
All, all — the while - an awful distance keeping;
Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs;
And one, his little hand in hers,
Who weeps to see his sister weeping.

Then Jacqueline the silence broke.
She clasped her father's knees and spoke,
Her brother kneeling too;
While D'Arcy as before looked on,
Though from his manly cheek was gone
Its natural hue.
“His praises from your lips I heard,
Till my fond heart was won;
And, if in aught his sire has erred,
O, turn not from the son ! -
She, whom in joy, in grief, you nursed ;
Who climbed and called you father first, ,

By that dear name conjures —
On her you thought -- but to be kind !
When looked she up, but you inclined ?
These things, forever in her mind,
0, are they gone from yours?
Two kneeling at your feet behold;
One — one how young !-- nor yet the other old.
O, spurn them not-nor look so cold ! -
If Jacqueline be cast away,
Her bridal be her dying day.

- Well, well might she believe in you ! She listened, and she found it true.”

He shook his aged locks of snow; And twice he turned, and rose to go. She hung; and was St. Pierre to blame, If tears and smiles together came? “O, no - begone! I'll hear no more." But, as he spoke, his voice relented. "That

very look thy mother wore
When she implored, and old Le Roc consented.
True, I have erred and will atone ;
For still I love him as my own.
And now, in my hands, yours with his unite ;
A father's blessing on your heads alight !

Nor let the least be sent away.
All hearts shall sing 'Adieu to sorrow !'
St. Pierre has found his child to-day;
And old and young shall dance to-morrow.'


Had Louis* then before the gate dismounted,
Lost in the chase at set of sun;

* Louis the Fourteenth.

Like Henry when he heard recounted
The generous deeds himself had done
(What time the miller's maid Colette
Sung, while he supped, her chansonnette),
Then - when St. Pierre addressed his village-train,
Then had the monarch with a sigh confessed
A joy by him unsought and unpossessed,

- Without it what are all the rest ? To love, and to be loved again.


* Alluding to a popular story related of Henry the Fourth, of France, similar to ours of “ The King and Miller of Mansfield.”



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