Chapter I

'Yond many a crimsoned thorn-hedge
In that sweet English vale
Where violet, pink and eglantine
Waft incense on the gale.

Where from the wayside hillocks smile
Gay groups of golden-rod;
And 'neath the shade of branching elm,
The lithe-limbed bluebells nod.

Beneath that lofty, grey stone arch;
Beneath that sculptured crest;
Betwixt those pillars huge, whereon
Heraldic lions rest.

Up through green woods of storied fame;
Where squire with hawk and hound,
And monarch with his glittering train
Had sought a hunting ground.

Unto that gently rising slope;
There Crawfurd Castle stands,
With lordship, far as eye can reach,
O'er all the County lands.

But why, in its kingly grandeur
Of terrace, arch and tower,
Stands that fair structure mute and lone
As hermit in his bower?

* * * * *

On this same Crawfurd Castle, nigh fourscore years agone,
The morning dawned full cheerily, the sun as brightly shone,
The rooks rehearsed their noisy caw, the lark trilled roundelay
As if this sorrow-freighted world rejoiced in holiday.

Anear the Gothic window, through which the orient beams
Fell in subduèd radiance o'er young life's happy dreams,
Sat one whose noble form and mien, firm step and shapely hand

Proclaimed him born with either right, to serve or to command.

This day was of his happy life, the happiest, brightest far,
For a blissful calm had fallen on a bitter family jar;
The Earl had yielded; on the morn his loved and only son
With full consent would wed with her whose heart had long been won.

She was no child of fortune the lady of his choice;
A lovely face, a faultless form, a clear and kindly voice
Were hers, with wealth of tenderness, and heart of honest love,
Which prized him for his own true worth all other claims above.

She was no peeress of the realm; no high born titled dame,
To lead the dance in glittering halls where myriad jewels flame;
To circle in the slippery round of fashion's giddy throng;
To charm the audience with a sound whence dwells no soul of song.

Yet, brighter to her lover's eyes those coils of golden hair
Than coronet of strawberry leaves, o'ertopped with pearlets rare;

And dearer to her lover's heart those accents sweet and low
Than choicest melody of art, or studied music's flow.

So Viscount Edwin sat and dreamed bright dreams of after hours
When the curate's winsome daughter should reign at Crawfurd towers;
And a new, sweet peace stole o'er him as he thought of all the scorn
With which the Earl had spoken of the maiden lowly born.

How he had pointed to their sires, and reasoned of disgrace,
While bitter disappointment had paled his noble face;
Then how, relenting for the sake of her long since in heaven,
He'd ta'en his boy unto his heart, and seeming wrong forgiven.

Then o'er the dreamer's youthful face there stooped a passing cloud;
But an angel voice made whisper beyond the satin shroud,
As a gentle hand pressed tenderly upon the smooth, white brow,
"I loved thee, Oh my little one!--I love and bless thee now."