Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 23
Shedding its brightness through the cloud and gloom ;
Then all the barren desert of my mind
Shone out with golden light : thy
tuneful voice
Fell on my soul more sweet than forest
lays,
That make the wild moor pleasant. Like the torrent,
When genial spring-suns melt the torpid ice,
My wild heart leaped with hope, and bounded on
In sparkling, boisterous gladness for the land
Of sunny freedom ;
and that bourn I'll reach,
Though giant rocks and mountains intervene ;
No bar the roaring cataract shall stop
Of my proud feelings, till I reach the shore
Of liberty's bright ocean.
ELFILIA.
Hear me, Albert.
ALBERT.
Hear thee ? Ay, give me but one soft, kind word,
And I will listen to the dove-toned sounds
Of thy sweet voice, like the pale silent moon
When the glad nightingale her wild love tells
In yonder myrtle bowers. And shall that minstrel,
That shallow-hearted boy, bear thee away
From these strong manly arms ?
How will this end ?
ELFILIA.
Woe worth thee, Albert !
ALBERT.
In death, if he persist.
I am a mountain-minded son of toil,
And let that twangling bard of sloth and pride
Beware the rover of the desert moor,
Strong as its iron rocks, and sternly fierce,
When moved with anger, as its own dark storms. 18
( )